The First Rule
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Written for the NFA Why Are You Torturing McGee? Challenge and the Head to Head Challenge. Tim-centered, angsty, semi-violent story. Lots of teamwork. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This was written for the NFA Why Are You Torturing McGee? and Head to Head Challenges. That should basically tell you what it's about. There are spoilers for season 6 and covers my typical fare: Tim, angst, torture, H/C...the works. I do happen to think that I'm doing pretty good at coming up with a different type of plot, though. :) ...and, hey, I get to have Tim and Gibbs duking it out. That's got to be good.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or the NCIS franchise. I am not making money off of any of this. I'm just writing because it takes my mind off real life...and I happen to enjoy it.

* * *

**The First Rule...  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

A woman, accompanied by two men, walked through a nondescript door. They did not seem to fit in the area, a middling low class region in eastern Pennsylvania. Still, they walked as though they knew where they were going. It was not their first trip to this house. Nor were they the first to arrive.

_He who would live must fight, he who will not fight in this world where eternal struggle is the law of life, has not the right to exist. _

"I do like the new motto," the woman commented as they stood in the entryway. She pulled off her coat, looking up at the archway.

One of the men glanced upward and nodded in approval.

"Where is our escort?" asked the other man. He had a slight accent in his voice, but he, like his two companions, was richly dressed, not in an ostentatious fashion, but in the kind of garb that spoke to taste, refinement...and above all, the wealth required to purchase clothing in such costly fabrics.

"I apologize for my absence," another voice chimed in. It was not subservient but welcoming. "There was a small amount of difficulty with one of our other...guests."

The three turned and gave the man standing below the archway an understanding smile.

"How many are here?" the woman asked.

"It is a new tournament. Everyone who could be here is here."

"Are there enough candidates?"

"Yes. Some acquired this very day."

"Excellent. When will the choices be made?" one man asked.

"You are the last to arrive."

"Then, let us waste no more time."

The trio was led under the archway and into the house. Once within, they did not linger on the main floor, but entered an open door and walked down the steps into the much larger basement complex. A group of men and women, just as richly dressed, were standing quietly together. Each held a drink and were chatting while casting glances at the far wall, as if expecting something to appear there. The three joined the group and talked for a few moments before a soft throat-clearing caught everyone's attention. A man, dressed all in black, had walked in front of the far wall and was smiling deferentially at those present.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. A special warm welcome to our first time players." He nodded at a small group, slightly apart from the others. "I am pleased to announce that after a long hiatus, the competitions are ready to begin again. Are there any questions?"

"There was discussion previously about changing the rules to allow for switching bets should the original selection prove less than adequate. Has there been a decision?"

The man inclined his head to acknowledge the speaker.

"Yes, a decision has been made. After long debate among the founding members, it was decided that we would hold to the original rules. You may choose to ally yourself and your bets with another member should your original choice be eliminated. Otherwise, you must stick with that choice. The point of the game is not to jump around to the one currently winning but to see how much one's choice can improve...or can surprise."

There was a ripple of agreement with no dissent.

"Any other questions?"

Silence.

"Very well. Then, without further ado, we will reveal the participants."

He nodded to someone out of sight and the wall opened, revealing a group of men and women, all hanging from chains in the ceiling, all in varying degrees of consciousness. Most were in suits of some type, albeit in bad shape. Two were in running gear. Two were in casual jeans or even sweats. When the lights came on, most roused slightly, looking around themselves in confusion. As the rich men and women came closer, a few of those in restraints asked for help. They were quickly silenced.

The woman who had arrived last walked up and down the line, dissatisfied with all she saw. There was not one there who seemed to possess that hidden fire she always had searched for in choosing her participant. It was hard to pick based on appearance, based on their behavior upon their first awakening. The last winner had been a banker, seemingly soft and doughy. He had been the last chosen...and he had been the final winner. His meek exterior had hidden someone determined to survive at all costs. It had been the greatest irony when he had realized that winning didn't mean survival. However, the doughy contestants weren't always the best. Many of them went down in the first round.

Others were making their choices, examining each contestant carefully. The new members were hesitant in approaching them, even though they were all restrained and dazed.

"Slim pickings this time around," a voice whispered in her ear.

"Perhaps because we are back in America this time around. They were stronger elsewhere," she murmured back. "Have you made your choice?"

"Yes." The man pointed to a one of the women. She was lean, obviously athletic...but her eyes, which had just opened, held a certain degree of resentment. It hadn't become outright hatred because she did not understand just what was happening yet (none of them would at this point). "She will be hard to break, but when she does, she will fight better than many of these others. If you don't hurry, there will be nothing left for you to choose."

The woman nodded and moved down the line again. One of the men in the middle, ignored by most of the others, suddenly looked up as she passed and met her brief glance. She halted, arrested by the expression in those startlingly green eyes. She sent a practiced gaze over his body. Tall. Muscular. A bit of extra flesh but not enough to indicate a sedentary lifestyle. However, it was his eyes that drew her. Unlike the others, he had managed to hide his confusion tolerably well. He was in pain. That much was obvious. He was not used to that. ...but his eyes were on hers, almost insolently. No, it was not insolence. He was evaluating her. His eyes fairly sparkled with intelligence. He said nothing.

"I'll take this one," she said, her voice ringing out over the soft conversations. She had always preferred making her choices obvious rather than covert. The host glided over and cast an evaluating glance on her choice.

"A departure from your usual, madam."

"Getting in a rut will not help me win."

"Of course. Of course. You are certain? There are many others available."

"This is the one I want," she said, firmly.

"Very good, madam. I will mark him down as belonging to you." He gestured and two assistants came to remove the man from display. His chains were released and as they fell, pulling down his arms with them, she saw him wince. However, he stood as erect as he could and again, met her gaze. This time, it _was_ insolence. He was disgusted by her. So much the better. These types were the best to watch break.

She held his gaze and then turned to rejoin her friends. As she did, she heard his voice. It was soft but full of anger.

"I do _not_ belong to you."

A thump followed by a groan indicated his punishment, but she turned back to him. It was only the hands of the assistants which had prevented him from falling to the floor.

"You _are_ mine," she corrected in a voice of deceptive sweetness. "You might think you are free, but you are nothing now. Nothing but my tool."

He straightened, breathing heavily.

"My name is Timothy McGee...and I am a human being."

Her smile was almost feline. "No, Timothy McGee. You are chattel."

Then, she walked away, hearing him dragged from the room. Her friends looked at her almost with envy.

"Not so slim pickings as you thought," she said with a smile. She was ready for the games to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"He's still not answering?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Ziva said. "But perhaps he is simply..."

"Last time Probie didn't show up for work like this, his sister ended up under suspicion for murder...and he was helping her."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_I want to hear him scream, but no permanent damage."_

"_Yes, ma'am."_

"_None. Got that? He has to win for me, not die because you softened him up too much."_

"_Understood."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva looked over at the empty desk.

"I highly doubt that McGee's sister would be accused of murder twice."

"You never know. Maybe this time..." Tony trailed off. "Morning, Boss!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_It wasn't the beating that made him scream. It was a knowledge of where the pain receptors were clumped._

"_Run to the wall before the lights go out and I won't hit you again."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked, by way of greeting...but that was only using greeting in the loosest possible definition.

"Not here, Boss."

"But he is probably just running late," Ziva said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The lights went out before he had taken three steps. The kick came out of the total darkness, dropping him to his knees, knocking the wind out of him. The second kick was so carefully placed that he knew, even through the haze of pain, that this was a person well-versed in causing pain without causing damage._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Find him. He should be here on time." Gibbs stalked away and muttered grimly, "If his sister is in trouble again, I'll let him resign this time."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Run to the wall before the lights go out and I won't kick you again."_

_The lights came back on and he leapt to his feet and tried to run. He got halfway there before the lights went out again. He kept running, only to be dropped to his knees by an all too familiar sensation. A taser. He began to jerk painfully, his body out of his control...but he still didn't scream._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It didn't take long before Gibbs was back again. "All right. Forget about McGee. We have a case."

"What is it?"

"Missing Marine."

"Where?" Ziva asked.

"Norfolk."

"Oooh, alliteration," Tony said with facetious excitement. "Can we try assonance next? I don't know exactly what assonance is, but any word that has–"

_Thwack!_

"Shutting up, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_If you make it to the wall before the lights go out, I won't hurt you again."_

_Again, he jumped up and began to run as soon as the lights came up. The lights went out in seconds. This time, he stopped running and waited. When the strike came, he heard it and turned. He tried to catch the foot, but he couldn't see...and his movement only brought his chin into perfect alignment to receive the boot. It knocked him back and rung a strangled yelp his throat._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's a newly promoted Private First Class. Didn't show up for duty three days in a row. Before that he was not only reliable but was also early for everything. His superiors put him on the fast track."

"And?"

"And his home on the base shows signs of a struggle. You waiting for an invitation, DiNozzo?"

"Nope." Tony grabbed his bag and ran for the elevator followed by Ziva.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_If you make it to the wall before the lights go out, I won't hurt you again."_

_The lights came up...but he didn't move this time. Instead, he looked around, trying to find the man who was controlling everything. He seemed to be alone. The lights went out...and within seconds, a hand grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him forcibly to the floor._

"_You run when I tell you to run. You stop when I tell you to stop. You don't do anything if I don't tell you to."_

_Then, the blows began._

_Still, he didn't scream._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Signs of a struggle?" Tony asked. "Talk about an understatement...unless he's as much of a slob as Jardine."

The area was a mess...and it was obvious that PFC Dallon had put up quite the fight in resisting his attacker...but since he wasn't there...and there was a significant amount of blood spatter, he had obviously lost in the end.

"A slob?" Ziva asked. "Slobs do not spatter blood all over."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The blood spattered on the floor...at least, that was his assumption as he finally let out a scream of pain. The knife was not sharp. It was dull. Dull meant more pressure over a longer period of time. It meant tearing flesh instead of slicing. _

_It meant pain._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You done yet, Ziva?"

"I believe so. I have gathered more blood evidence in this room than I have in the last month or more."

"Abby's going to have fun."

Ziva grinned. "Yes. This should put her in...moons of delight. That is correct, yes?"

Tony looked up from his bag. "Moons of delight?" His expression was a bit bewildered. "I don't know that I've heard that one before."

"Perhaps it loses something in translation."

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"Perhaps you two could do some work before losing your jobs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_They carried him out of the room and dumped him on the floor of his...cell. What surprised him was that they stopped the bleeding...not gently, but they stopped it._

_As soon as they left, Tim sat up and looked around. He had no idea where he was, no idea why they wanted him, no idea what was going on..._

_The only thing he knew for certain was that whatever they were trying to do...if he wasn't found quickly, they'd succeed. He knew that he wouldn't be able to resist this for long. He remembered talking to Ziva about torture once before and she said that everyone broke eventually. He had run because they wanted him to. He didn't know why that was so important, but he had run...each time hoping that he'd make it to that stupid wall, but he never had._

_Now, in the quiet of his dark cell, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion, he knew that he wasn't supposed to. They were...evaluating him? Maybe. He was afraid, though...afraid of what they wanted, what was worth all this effort, what they'd be willing to do to get whatever it was._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee had better be sick or dead, you know," Tony said softly as they headed for the elevator.

"Why?"

"Because Gibbs will kill him for missing work if it's not one of those things."

"He has been gone before."

"Yeah, on approved leave. That means that..."

"Are you not worried that he _might_ be sick or dead?"

"Only if he doesn't show up tomorrow."

"You worried much more when he was gone at the time when his sister was accused of murder. You said it was not like him to be late."

The doors opened and they walked toward the lab doors.

"Yes, well...that was different."

Ziva furrowed her brow. "How?"

"It just was!"

"Would Abby feel the same?"

"Of course not. It's Abby! She freaks out every time we leave the building." The doors opened. "Hey, Abby! We come bearing gifts!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He wondered how long he'd been there. The whole weekend? Surely someone was looking for him already. Abby would know he wasn't around...if it was Sunday. Was it Sunday? He didn't know. He didn't know how long he'd been kept unconscious before waking up in that room with rich people staring at him._

_Then, a booming voice startled him from his musings._

"_Round one!"_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby turned around. "What have you got for me?"

"Blood. Lots of it."

"Excellent! Lay it on me!" She snatched the evidence bags and signed for them. "We'll spend some time getting to know each other!" she cooed.

"Not too much. Gibbs wants to know who the blood belongs to ASAP."

"El Jefe always says that."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't mean it."

Abby laughed. "Of course he means it!" She turned around and began typing.

Ziva nudged Tony significantly. He ignored her.

"Why haven't you two left yet? Don't you have work to do?" Abby asked without turning around. "By the way, where's McGee? He hiding because he stood me up yesterday?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_They opened the doors and dragged him out...into what looked like a miniature arena. It was like some sort of version of..._

_Tim looked blearily around. The lights were too bright for him to see much beyond them, but he thought he could see human shapes._

"_Fight or die!"_

_Tim looked up toward the sound, but then was knocked flat onto his face by a vicious blow to his back. He rolled over just in time to miss the foot plunging down to his unprotected spine. A man, clothes in tatters, eyes wild, came at him again._

_This time, Tim tried to fend him off._

"_What's going on?" he asked desperately. "What's going on?"_

_The man didn't respond. Instead, he dove at Tim again, this time catching a heavy blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of Tim who sank helplessly to the floor._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony now looked worried.

"McGee stood you up?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. Wouldn't even answer his phone. We were supposed to meet at this club. I stood around for an hour before giving up. I called him a few times, left angry messages. Not even an apology."

"You didn't talk to him at all?" Tony asked.

"Why would I? He's the one who owes _me_ an apology."

"He didn't even answer his phone?"

"Yeah. Coward."

"Were you not worried, Abby? Would McGee stand you up?"

"He did once before, completely spaced that we were supposed to meet up. He gets that way sometimes. I'll just have to make sure he crawls on his knees before I forgive him."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim forced himself up onto his knees. He could barely see because one of his eyes was swollen shut. The man just would not stop. Finally, Tim tried to fight back, forgetting to ask why, intent only on keeping himself from being killed by this madman._

_He launched himself toward the man, catching him around the waist and dragging him to the floor. Tim knew he wasn't much good at hand-to-hand, but he'd had some success with wrestling. As he grappled with the man, he tried to make him stop, tried to figure out how this strange fight was going to end._

_The man broke free and wrapped his hands around Tim's neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. Tim choked and writhed, trying to get free. The hands were like a vise...and somehow Tim expected that no one would stop the man from killing him._

_There was nothing he could do. ...nothing except..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee did not come to work today."

Abby scrunched up her face. "What?"

"Probie skipped work."

"No," Abby said, shaking her head emphatically. "Tim wouldn't skip work. He'd come no matter what. Even if he was so late that there were only five minutes left." She bit her lip. "Where is he?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim backed away in horror. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't meant to go so far...but the man just would _not_ stop coming. He stared at his hands. How had he done that? How? He didn't think it was possible. He'd never been trained to react that way._

"_Well done," the booming voice said. "Winner."_

_Tim's eyes looked down at the...the body, those lifeless eyes staring up into infinity...never to see again. Who had that man been? Why had he tried to kill him? Why? Who? Who was that voice?_

_...what was that hand on his arm? Tim whipped around, expecting another attacker. He was right...in a way. It was a man, one of his captors with a vice-like grip on one arm and before he could react, another one of his captors placed a similar grip on his other arm. Forcibly, they pulled him away from the horrible ring of light and into the dimness beyond._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss?"

"What, Tony? Solved the case already?" Gibbs asked sourly.

"No. We...er...Ziva and Abby are worried about McGee."

Gibbs looked up, almost in surprise at Tim's desk...seemingly not expecting it to be empty.

"Worried?"

"Yeah. He–"

Abby jumped in. "He stood me up yesterday and Tim wouldn't do that on purpose and he wouldn't just not come to work. Even when his sister was in trouble, he still sent in an excuse, Gibbs! This isn't right! I think there's something wrong. He's not answering his phone and I tried sending him an email or..."

"I think there may be something wrong, Gibbs. I would like to–"

Gibbs interrupted, shaking his head. "Go if you like after work, Ziva, but right now, we have to focus on the crime that has occurred."

"But what about McGee, Gibbs?" Abby demanded.

"You can go, too...but you had better finish processing that evidence." Gibbs looked back down, seemingly unconcerned...but when the others had dispersed, he pulled out his own phone and dialed for Tim's number.

"_Hello, you have reached Timothy McGee. I'm not available to take your call. Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you...at some point."_

Gibbs looked at the phone and was a little worried.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_If you can get to the wall before the lights go out, I won't hurt you again..."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_I love it when a case gets closed without moral ambiguities," Tony said, leaning back in his chair._

"_I cannot believe that you even know what the word ambiguity means," Ziva retorted._

"_I'm not dumb, Ziva."_

_Tim suppressed a chuckle...mostly and then, when Tony glared at him, looked intently at his monitor, pretending to work on his report._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Don't go without me, I'm almost done!" Abby said. She'd been working frantically to get everything finished by the end of the regular work day.

"We will wait, Abby."

"You know, Probie's going to be in such big trouble when we get to his apartment and find that he got into a burst of writing and didn't notice the time passing," Tony said, trying to pretend he wasn't worried.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Reports?" Gibbs asked, looking at them all._

_Tony and Ziva both got up to hand theirs to Gibbs._

"_Almost done, Boss!" Tim said, quickly._

"_Leave it on my desk before you go, McGee," Gibbs ordered._

"_Yes, Boss. I'll be done soon."_

"_Before you leave, McGee."_

_Tim nodded and turned his attention back to his computer._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay. Everything is being analyzed. It'll take all night to go through all those samples," Abby said and pulled out her phone. She dialed Tim's number and listened. "Okay...no answer. Let's go."

Tony and Ziva nodded and followed her out of the lab. Gibbs gave them all a glance as they walked by but said nothing. Abby had no such problem. She stopped before they got past Ziva's desk.

"Gibbs, you wanna come, too?"

"And do what?"

"Make sure Tim's all right."

Gibbs simply looked back down at his work without answering. The trio continued on their way but heard a voice behind them, one that required no actual response.

"Call me when you get there."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_It didn't take long to get inside the apartment. The lock was secure but nothing was secure enough to keep out a determined intruder._

_Not even a German shepherd._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ziva, you ready to pick the lock?" Tony asked as they reached his door.

Ziva knocked and waited for a response. There was none.

"I do not need to do that, Tony. I have a key."

"You do?" Abby asked in amazement. "Why?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Because we live close to each other and it made sense to keep spare keys with each other in the unlikely event that one of us was locked out."

"Wait, so Probie has a key to _your_ apartment, too?" Tony asked, eyes wide.

"Yes," Ziva said blithely ignoring the looks she was getting. "Good thing for you both since he does not appear to be answering."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim didn't get home until late. His report had taken longer than he anticipated. Jethro would give him that look._

"_Jethro!" Tim called as he stepped inside._

_The silence told him immediately that something was wrong._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva pulled out her key and unlocked the door. They all stepped inside together...or as close to together as they could get, seeing as none of them were small enough for a true simultaneous entry.

It was the smell that told them something was wrong. ...the smell and the silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim pulled out his gun._

"_Jethro?" he called again._

_Still, there was no answering bark. There was nothing but that awful silence. Then, a rank rag was suddenly thrust over his mouth and nose. Tim tried not to breathe it in but couldn't help it, even as he struggled against arms that were much too strong for him to fight against._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Jethro..."

It was a sound of disbelief, of instant grief. Abby whimpered wordlessly and ran over to the bloody, furry shape on the floor beside Tim's writing desk, almost in the doorway to Tim's bedroom. She knelt beside the still form and hesitantly touched it.

"He is dead?" Ziva asked, hardly daring to believe it, but knowing that it must be true.

"Oh, Jethro," Abby said softly and wiped away a tear.

Tony squeezed by her and looked through Tim's bedroom and bathroom, not really expecting to find anything. He felt dull and slow, with none of the urgency that usually filled him when starting a case. He wasn't sure why it was that he felt so odd. He walked back to where Abby was still focused on the dead German shepherd. Ziva was staring at Jethro, her phone in her hand but she had not yet dialed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The rag stayed clamped on the struggling man until he sagged in the grip of someone much stronger. Stepping over the body of the dog, his compatriot joined him in pulling the limp form further into the apartment. They closed the door and settled down to wait for the perfect opportunity to remove their captive from his home._

_It only took an hour._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ziva...you...going to use that thing?" Tony asked, pointing at the phone.

Ziva visibly pulled herself together and nodded, bringing the phone up to her ear after dialing with a professional air.

"Gibbs," she said...and then faltered. Abby was still sobbing with her arms around the corpse of a dog. "There is a problem."

"_What's the problem?"_

Ziva took a breath and then said the words in a measured tone. "McGee is missing...and Jethro is dead. For some time it appears."

There was a long silence.

"_I'm on my way."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_There was a voice._

"_Round three!"_

_He tensed...but as had happened before, there was no sound, no indication that he'd have to go back to that room, have to face off against someone...to possibly kill someone._

_Instead, the door opened, revealing an all-too-familiar silhouette and Tim backed away...against the wall. He could go no further. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to face that other room where voices made impossible requests and punished him for failure. He knew that he'd try to do what they wanted him to do...even if, right now, he knew that there was no way he would. A few beatings, that horrible dull knife slicing into his skin...he'd be trying to do the impossible, just because he would desperately want to believe that there was some way he could get away, some way he could stop it._

_...but as they dragged him out of his cell, he knew there was no way._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Abby, put Jethro down," Tony said as Ziva hung up the phone.

Abby ignored him, rocking the dead German shepherd back and forth, back and forth.

"Abby!" Tony shouted.

She jumped and lifted a tear-stained face to meet Tony's gaze.

"You're contaminating the crime scene, Abby," he said, trying to maintain calm in the face of Abby's extreme lack thereof. "Jethro is dead and there's nothing you can do about it. You need to put him down and let us figure out who took McGee."

"What about who killed Jethro?" she asked, nearly shrieking. "Don't you care about that?" She leapt to her feet and began to descend on Tony. "Don't you care that Jethro is dead? That he probably died trying to save..." She stuttered to an abrupt halt and then collapsed into Tony's arms, crying. "Where is he, Tony? Where's Tim?"

Tony swallowed. There was something about Abby's agitation at times like this. It was contagious.

"Uh, I don't know, Abbs. Remember, I just got here...like you."

"Gibbs is on his way."

"Is Ducky coming?" Abby asked.

"For what reason?" Ziva asked, quizzically.

"For what?" Abby's voice soared a couple of octaves. "For Jethro! Ducky almost...he...he saved Jethro already. He should...do the autopsy."

"I'm sure Gibbs will get Ducky if he thinks it's a good idea, Abby."

"It's not fair, Tony. Jethro was probably only being loyal, trying to protect Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_It was different this time. There was an indistinct shape standing in front of the wall. The light shone on it, demonstrated._

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you again."_

"_Please...why are you doing this?" Tim asked, looking around for his tormentor. "What do you want from me?"_

_The blow was from behind and it knocked Tim to his knees, clutching vainly at his back. That one hurt._

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you again."_

_It took a few seconds before Tim was able to master the pain and pull himself back to his feet. Then, he refocused on the shape, on the man. He began to run._

_The lights went out._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's apartment was crowded in the best of circumstances. It was full of bookshelves, half-demolished computers, his working computers...and over the last year, Jethro's various accessories. Now, in addition to those things, four people were in various locations, searching, investigating...crying. Only one was doing that, but others felt the same kind of worry. It was strange how the death of an animal could create such anxiety.

It was the fact that they knew too much from what they'd found. Jethro had been shot. No one had reported hearing gunfire. That meant either no one was around to hear it or else the person/people who had done it had come prepared to kill. It was planned. That was frightening. It was a planned abduction...and abduction it must be since Tim's body wasn't there. If he had not shown up at the club to meet Abby, did that mean he'd been taken on Friday? Or was it Saturday? Or even Sunday? Why had he been taken? Was he still alive now? If so, in what state? The kinds of questions they would ask when solving a case now had to be asked about one of their own.

...and the one who might know the answers was gone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim ached from head to toe. No. It was not a mere ache he felt. It was throbbing pain. He had tried and tried and _tried_ to make it to that shape, but he never could. He wanted to so badly. He just wanted to get there so that the man would stop beating him, would stop cutting him with that dull blade. Would just stop._

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you again."_

_Tim ran but without much hope. He made it almost halfway...just long enough for a false hope to build in his chest..._

_The lights went out._

_Tim screamed._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The standings had some interesting results for the first set of bouts. The angry woman had gone down in five minutes, much to the chagrine of her owner...whereas the insolent agent had defeated the previous victor, even without understanding, even with a complete lack of desire to do so. It was an accident and the victor had been definitely in bad state. Still he had won. That was not to be sneered at, even though she didn't get as high of marks for an accidental death as she would have for one which had been a motivated killing. Still, that kind of victory, so early. He definitely had potential. She hoped he lived long enough to live up to that potential. She had already joined forces with her friend who had lost his own promising start.

The next set of matches should prove more interesting. These were the ones where they usually still tried to talk their way out of it...and almost always failed. Bets had been placed that her entrant would be a talker, not a fighter. It was in the rules that the training sessions were totally off-limits. The area where the fights took place was the central hub, but the participants were spread out over a huge area...land purchased for this specific purpose. No one outside of her training staff knew what was being done to hone her fighter into someone who would attack at will. She always had quite a bit of success with her methods. It didn't always work fully, and sometimes the physical ability just wasn't there...but she always had people begging her for tips.

She never gave them. As she looked at the odds, an eager, avaricious smile lit up her face. She was happier than ever with her choice, even if she doubted he'd survive to the end. There was a military man among the ranks. Rare to be sure, but a good find. He would be the favorite to win in the end. Even she could concede it was more likely.

But it wouldn't be any fun if she only bet on a sure thing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you anymore."_

_Tim almost wept. Almost. A small spark of pride remained and forced him to hold back the tears of exhaustion. He had no idea how long he'd endured this, how long he'd been trying to get to a person that seemed no closer than he had before. He hurt. The cuts weren't serious, but they were painful. The beatings left him gasping for breath but they weren't designed to kill. He just wanted it to stop._

_The lights came up. He began to run._

_The lights stayed on. He continued to run._

_The lights went out. He was ten feet away this time._

_He screamed._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I wish you would let me in on your secret, Cherie. I wouldn't have thought your choice could make it through one round...and you even drew the previous winner as his first fight. That's usually a write-off."

Cherie smiled as she sipped at her drink. "You know that will never happen, Don. We may be allies at the moment, but the next time, we'll again be on opposite sides. I would only weaken my own hand by showing you how I do it."

"Do you get personally involved?" Don asked.

"Do you?" she returned.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments before they both smiled and laughed.

"All right. I concede. We can't really trust each other in this respect. We _could_, however..."

"Don't even think it, Don. It will never happen."

"_The next bout will begin in one hour. Players will please transport their fighters to the center ring."_

Cherie stood, downing the rest of her drink in a swift swallow that barely made her wince.

"I need to get him prepared. My trainer has been...extremely focused." She smiled and left Don staring after her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim collapsed to the floor of his cell and curled into a ball, cradling his arm which was bleeding rather heavily. His body trembled from the lingering pain from the punishment he had just endured. He had come so very close this time. So close. So close that he could see the man's body as he inhaled and exhaled. So close._

"_Second cycle. Round one."_

_Tim tensed at the voice. He had been round one last time...and he had almost died because he had tried to stop his attacker rather than fend him off. _

No more pain. No more pain.

_The door opened. He heard footsteps and then was pulled roughly to his feet. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper as the rough hands reopened the bleeding wound. He heard a muffled curse and then was unceremoniously dumped onto the...bed (for lack of a better term). It was dark, hard to see around him...and he couldn't bring himself to expend the energy to focus anyway. The same rough hands wrapped a bandage around his arm and then pulled him back to his feet._

_He allowed his mind to disconnect as he was taken, barely noticing when he was led through hallways, never reaching the open air._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cherie took her time walking to the center ring. As one of the original members of the group, she always had a prime spot. In addition, since it was her candidate she would be given pride of place...as would her competition. She didn't know whom her fighter would be facing off against, but she was confident that her trainer had done his job well. The job wasn't over as yet, but significant progress had been made and that was important. These cycles weren't about immediate returns, but general improvement, and hopefully, gradually-increasing successes.

She held a folder in her hands, although she had no reason to look at it. The files never had much information anyway. Name, occupation, photo, and level of education completed. Beyond that, they were expected to figure out the abilities of their fighters the hard way: by throwing them into the ring and seeing how they performed. Sometimes, like for Don, someone who seemed perfect ended up being weak. Other times, like the military man and like her agent, they performed to specifications or even exceded them. The women rarely lasted as long as the men, although there had been some notable exceptions. It came down to endurance and the women they had often chosen did not have that. Or perhaps they just didn't have the same bloodthirsty streak as the men seemed to possess. Or maybe it was simply that the women they picked up were not the ones with the animal need for survival. Who knew. Men dominated in these cycles. It was a rare woman who managed to last to the end.

Cherie reached the doors and waited for admittance. No one came and went as they pleased. There was a certain order to things...an order that kept the fights secure, kept the entire facility secure. She looked up at the camera and nodded.

The door opened.

"Welcome, madame. The players are in position and await only the time."

"Good. My place?"

"Empty and awaiting your presence."

"Thank you."

Cherie walked down the aisle to the front of the small arena. Don stood beside her, nodding professionally. She smiled and then turned her attention to the currently-empty circle.

It wouldn't be long now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim was shoved into position in front of a door and then left alone. He knew what was coming. Another fight with someone who would try to kill him._

Not again.

_A hand reached up to the door. He wished it wouldn't open. He didn't want this. He didn't want to have to fight for his life again. He knew he would...and he couldn't let himself die. He just couldn't. It would hurt._

_He couldn't face more pain._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fighters are in position. Any last-minute bets must now be made. Once the bell is rung, there will be no more betting accepted. Remember to maintain the requisite silence."

There was a collective intake of breath in anticipation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The door opened and Tim was pushed into the lit circle. He could, again, see vague shapes beyond it. He knew they were people. He knew they were watching._

_...what he didn't know was _why_ they were watching._

_Then, his eyes tracked in on the man staring at him. His eyes were wild with panic and once their eyes met, he burst into a flurry of motion. Tim steeled himself to fend off his assailant. ...no, not just fend off. There was no halfway. He had to go all the way. That was the only way to stop the pain. All the way. He'd never succeeded in making it all the way, not to the wall, not to the black shape of a man...but here...here, he could go all the way. He could stop the pain. In this ring of light, he had the power to stop it. Only here._

_Hands unused to the impending impact, clenched into fists and swung, one after the other as the man reached him. One after the other connected with more force than Tim thought he had. The man staggered backward and then flung himself forward again as if someone was shoving him at Tim with a firebrand in his back. This time, Tim decided to forego the boxing and resorted to a strange conglomeration of half-remembered wrestling moves and the type of grappling Gibbs had taught him...years ago and worlds away from this place._

_A fist connected with his face, just below his left eye and something seemed to explode in his head. Stars flashed in his vision and he couldn't focus. Next thing he knew, he was on his back, a knee in his chest, compressing his sternum, his ribcage in a way that would kill him if he didn't fight back. The pain was excruciating and the man was fighting back with a ferocity that matched Tim's intense desire to avoid feeling more pain._

He's going to win. He's going to win. I'm going to die.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The watching crowd was unable to suppress a small gasp of surprise when Cherie's fighter was taken down with a flying fist. In seconds, the tables had turned from a certain victory to a defeat that seemed equally-certain.

Cherie maintained her famous calm, although she could feel Don tensing beside her. She didn't blame him. He had chosen to ally himself with her and it was looking as though his money would be lost twice.

Then, another gasp was let out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim wasn't even aware of wanting to make a noise, but from his throat, he heard a growling sound...it was almost a word._

"_NO!"_

_He pushed and then when that failed, he drew back his hand and rammed it into the man's face, feeling the nose break. The knee disappeared and Tim leapt up to press his advantage. Again and again. No backing off. Now that he'd made it, he wouldn't give up. A small part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, but the dominant part was screaming more loudly for him to stop the pain he felt in the only way possible. There was only one way out, the voice screamed._

_He listened to the louder part._

_He stopped the pain...if only for a short time._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was no sound as the victor was taken from the ring. No sound as Cherie did the traditional march to the body. Don accompanied her, a step behind. She walked from the body to the owner, inclined her head and accepted the the file he held. Then, she stepped back from him and returned to the body.

"Round one of the second cycle," she said, reciting the formal speech of victory. "To the victor go the spoils. The dead are weak. The living are strong. The masters...rule."

A delicate foot lifted and nudged the body onto its back. Then, she pressed her foot into his chest until she heard a crack.

"The dead are weak," she said again.

"The living are strong," Don recited beside her.

"The masters...rule," the other participants said in a whisper.

They stood in a silent tableau. Don respectfully keeping his head slightly lowered, Cherie with one foot atop the defeated corpse, the rest of them in shadow.

After a minute, she walked away without a backward glance.

Later, there would be congratulations, but not until the evening meal. Now was the time spent cleaning up and disposing of the evidence of the fight.

She never showed it, but Cherie was suppressing a feeling of glee. She had won again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_They threw him back into his cell. He lay on his side, unmoving, for a while. Unmoving. He didn't want to move. Moving caused him pain. Unthinking. He didn't want to think. Thinking would bring him back to the person who didn't kill just to save his own skin, who wasn't willing to kill with his bare hands. Thinking would remind him that he hated what he had done in that ring. He didn't want to think because, somehow, he knew that he would end up in that ring again...and if he could, he would fight off whoever was placed in his way. _

_His body trembled. His face throbbed where the man had hit him. His chest ached from the pressure. Any harder and his sternum would probably have cracked. _

_He didn't know how long he lay on the floor...but eventually, they came in and pulled him out, dragged him into that horrible room._

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you anymore."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Abby's eyes were red when Gibbs came in the next morning for information.

"The bullet that killed Jethro came from a .45 ACP with a built-in suppressor," Abby reported, sniffling slightly. "I haven't found a hit for the striations on the bullet yet. It could be another day or two. The bullet is subsonic. They didn't want to be heard. The only fingerprints at...at the scene were from Tim and Sarah. I guess he hasn't been having any wild parties lately." She gave a small hiccuped laugh.

"No, I don't think so," Gibbs replied. "Anything else?"

"The blood was all from...from Jethro. Except for that little bit...that...that Tony and Ziva found by the door. I'll bet Tim got a bad splinter from whatever he did."

"Probably."

Abby turned around. "I don't have anything else, Gibbs. I don't. I don't know what else to find." Her voice began to shake. "Jethro is dead, Gibbs! They killed Jethro! They took Tim. Where's Tim? Why did they take him?" Her voice rose in volume. "Why? Why?"

Gibbs didn't answer, but he put his arms around her. All he did was allow her the time to cry, to get her unique method of freaking out done before he could continue. He didn't express to her his own fears that Tim was already dead. It wouldn't help anyone...nor would the idea of...

"Why did I just assume he stood me up? Why didn't I check on him? Maybe Jethro didn't die immediately. Maybe he would have survived. Maybe he could have led us to Tim! Maybe–"

"Maybe nothing would have changed except that we'd be a bit more worried now."

"I don't know what else to do but freak out, Gibbs! I've run the tests...and I still don't know anything."

"We'll find out something, Abbs. I promise." _I just don't know if it will be soon enough._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you again."_

_Tim couldn't control his breath anymore. He'd been running and tensing from kicks and fists for too long. He was no longer master of himself. They held all the cards. They always had. It was only now that he was realizing it. _

_He ran, not because he thought he'd make it, but because he had no other choice. He was punished if he didn't make it, but he was also punished if he didn't try to make it. There was nothing he could do to resist._

_Then, the lights went out. He was only inches away and as he sensed the people moving in on him, he began to fight blindly against the people who would hurt him. He wouldn't resist. The panic took over and he went wild. He couldn't see whom he was fighting, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was staving off the inevitable pain that would..._

_Tim screamed._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Anything from the...autopsy, Ducky?"

Ducky looked up from the table, his face solemn. He glanced beyond Gibbs and was relieved when he only saw Tony and Ziva there.

"It is not often I have engaged in the autopsy of an animal, Jethro, and I must say that it was an interesting, if tragic, experience. I am quite glad to see that Abigail did not come down with you. Her attachment to Jethro would probably have eroded the otherwise professional manner with which she greets death."

Ziva put out her hand and touched the cold nose. "He was a good dog, good at the tasks set for him," she said softly. "It is a shame."

"Based on my autopsy, I would venture to say that he was still performing his duties in the moment of his death."

"He was fighting?" Tony asked.

"Yes, or rather, preparing to fight. You see, the path of the bullet went from beneath and the bullet lodged in his spine."

"Paralyzed?"

"Yes. More than likely," Ducky agreed. "The nerves were severed. He would have been powerless to move...and death would have been relatively quick."

"Cause of death?"

"Exsanguination, in the end. The main artery supplying blood to the brain was punctured."

"Any sign that he got a piece of his killer?" Tony asked hopefully. The image of Jethro ripping someone to shreds was rather satisfying.

"I'm afraid not, Tony. There is no indication that Jethro had time to do any more than growl and leap before his untimely death."

"Too bad."

"Yes. It might have been nice to imagine his killer being maimed for life."

"Maybe we will be able to do that for him," Ziva said. "Especially if that man has harmed McGee." Her eyes glittered with that dangerous light that said she was ready for battle.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim ran and was shocked when he ran headlong into the figure, feeling the body rise and fall in a panicked rhythm. He stopped moving and stared._

"_Kill him."_

_Tim didn't move. This man was not attacking him. This man was doing nothing but standing there._

"_Kill him."_

_Still, he didn't move._

_...at least, not until the blows to the backs of his knees dropped him to the floor. The taser followed and Tim's muscles spasmed painfully and then seized up._

"_Kill him or I'll hurt you again."_

_The taser was removed and the presence receded. Tim pulled himself to his feet and he stared at the man. He was all in black and Tim couldn't see his face at all, couldn't discern anything. He only knew that the man was alive. ...but wasn't that enough? He had killed the other one because his own life was in danger. _

"_Kill him!"_

_Again, the taser. Again, the feeling of losing control. Again, dropping to the floor. Again, the pain._

_Tim began to sob as he felt the pain surging through him, the pain he only wanted to stop. He didn't care about anything else besides stopping it...but there was a part of him that was resisting the command, the part that still knew it was wrong...that he should die himself rather than do what the man wanted him to do._

"_Kill him or I'll hurt you again."_

_Tim looked up at the figure before him, his body shaking both with sobs and with pain._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What?" Cherie wasn't quite sure she'd heard correctly.

"I apologize, madame, but it's true." The man was deferentially apologetic.

"Who was the incompetent player who killed their own fighter?"

"It was one of the new participants."

Cherie shook her head. "Have you begun lowering the standards?"

"No!" He was affronted. "We would never lower our admission standards, but you know that occasionally we get people who do not understand what is required to create the fighters."

"What will be done?"

"A random draw."

"Meaning that my fighter could be required to fight again? This is highly irregular."

"I am aware of it, but in order to be fair... Whoever steps in will receive all the stake money put up by the player who failed."

"What about the player?"

"He will be taken care of."

Cherie sighed and nodded. "Very well. When will the draw take place?"

"In approximately one hour, madame, if that meets with your approval."

"It does not...but I suppose it will have to do." She sighed again and nodded for him to leave. Then, she went to her phone and left a message for her trainer. Hopefully, he would see it in time. She had a feeling that she would end up being the one to have to fight twice during this round. It wasn't fair, but when these things happened...as they did on occasion, it required the actions of the original members.

She would not make herself exempt just to make things easier.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Kill him!"_

_The voice resounded in his ears, his words punctuated with pain. Tim wanted to resist. He wanted to...but he couldn't. He couldn't face anymore of the pain. It needed to stop. He flung himself forward, grabbed the man around the neck and began to squeeze, his arm tightening more and more. The man didn't struggle...didn't even tense or move in any way. Tim began to loosen his grip._

"_Kill him!"_

_He tightened his grip. Tightened it more and more, until he was sure he'd killed the man. He held on until another shot with the taser forced him to let go. He dropped to the floor, pinned by the weight of the corpse. His own body twitched in microspasms that left him jerking involuntarily._

"_Well done."_

_Unkind hands pulled him off the floor and dragged him back to his cell. They dropped him there and left him in darkness._

_After a while, his body came back under his control and Tim lifted himself onto the poor excuse for a bed, curled into a ball and began to sob like a child._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cherie caught Don's eye as they gathered together for the meeting. He wasn't happy...but then, no one was happy. It turned out that the player had even hidden the body of his fighter...in a misguided attempt to conceal his error, no doubt.

He had been weak.

"All present?"

Nods.

"Good." The host kept a somber expression. "By now, you have all heard of the unfortunate mistake made by one of our number. His error has been eliminated and his weakness will not drag the rest of us down."

Murmurs of agreement.

"However, his error has also made it necessary for one fighter to participate more than once during this cycle. In an effort to make it fair, we will now commence with the random draw."

One of his assistants brought out a hat. There were a few nervous titters. He smiled.

"Yes, this is the old-fashioned way, but because of the unforeseen nature of the problem, low-tech seemed the best way to proceed."

He reached in and drew out a slip of paper. His eyes found Cherie's before he read out her name. She inclined her head in resignation, not acknowledging the other voices raised in sympathy. For her to be required to put her fighter forward again, so soon after her previous victory, was lamentable because it would mean an advantage for the one he fought.

"The round must take place today."

There were no postponements. Everyone knew that going in. Their fighters had to participate at the scheduled time, no matter what.

"Understood. I will make ready." She turned and walked out of the room. It was almost unfortunate that the problem had been taken care of so quickly. She would have liked to have been the one to mete out the appropriate punishment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Round four."_

_The door opened and Tim was unexpectedly pulled out. No. This wasn't right. He had already killed someone. They said he wouldn't hurt anymore! They said!_

_He put up a weak resistance, but the smallest pinch reminded him who was in control. ...and it wasn't him. The door opened and he saw his opponent._

_This time, Tim did not wait. He came out ready to fight. He would take the initiative now and keep himself from feeling the pain._

No more pain. No more pain.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Run. Run. Run.

Don't let them find you.

Don't make any noise.

Go.

Survive.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He did not react when they put him in his cell. He did not move, did not try and move his limbs into a more comfortable position. Nothing. He just waited, shutting himself down until the next time he had to hold back the pain._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What is that?" Lucy asked.

"What?" Kerry craned his neck to see around the tree.

"That! In the river! By that tree!"

He felt his stomach rumble rebelliously.

"Kerry, that's a body!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He fell into the bush, pushed himself up and kept running.

Run. Run.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_We ran his prints through the database and he came up as one of yours."_

Gibbs sighed inwardly. He didn't want this case coming up again now. Lovitz was supposed to be handling it, but he'd had a losing argument with a piece of rebar and so Gibbs was stuck keeping an eye on that team as well as leading his own.

"Who is he?"

"_A PFC James Dallon. Came up as missing?"_

"Yeah. That's ours."

"_A young couple out for a romantic evening found him."_

"Where?"

"_On the Susquehanna River, just above the Tydings Memorial Bridge."_

Gibbs acknowledged it and gestured for Agent Weaver to come and get the information. Then, he promised the officer that his team would come out and that their ME would take care of everything with the body.

"Any special instructions, Gibbs?" Geri asked archly.

"Just do your job, Weaver. Can't ask any more than that."

She smiled sympathetically. "Just find your man. We'll do the rest."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Back to the room. Back to the room. He tried to do what they told him, exactly when they told him, just to stop the pain._

_He was never quite good enough in that room. Never. He couldn't stop the pain there. They had the knife, the taser...their fists, their feet. He hated that darkness. He hated that he couldn't ever stop them. He hated that he couldn't fight enough to stop the pain._

"_Kill him."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Anything?" Tony asked, a note of entreaty in his voice. "Anything at all?"

Ziva plopped down on her chair and stared morosely at her computer screen. "Nothing. One of McGee's neighbors said that the only thing _he_ noticed was a lack of shredder sounds from McGee's apartment. He heard nothing else unusual. His other neighbor said that she had not seen him for a few days but that it was not unheard of as they had different schedules most of the time."

"So...nothing."

"Not anymore," Gibbs said walking by at warp speed. "Abby has something."

"Abby?" Tony asked.

"Is she not analyzing the evidence from PFC Dallon's murder? We have not given her anything new."

Gibbs didn't answer. He just continued his passage to the elevator, forcing Tony and Ziva to run behind him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A house. A house! People! Safety!

Run. Run.

"Help me...please...please, help me."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He collapsed beneath the onslaught. It had no end. He couldn't move._

_He wished they would put him in the ring again. There...there, he could fight. Here, he could only wish for something that would keep him from the pain._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you have, Abby?"

"PFC Dallon was fighting for his life," Ducky said, pointing to the battered and broken remains of their Marine. "He did a good job of it, too."

"Until his head got bashed in?" Tony observed. "What does this have to do with finding McGee?"

"Yes...well..." Ducky actually seemed uncomfortable.

Abby didn't look much better but she answered. "PFC Dallon had a bunch of skin under his fingernails. Lots of DNA. I ran it." She stopped, took a breath and continued. "It's Tim's."

"What?" Gibbs asked, surprised into asking a useless question.

"The DNA belongs to Tim. PFC Dallon was fighting Tim...and..."

Tony looked again at the image on the monitor. "You're trying to tell me that the Probie did _that_? Are you kidding?"

Abby just shook her head. She was giving off an aura of determined calm...or absolute shock.

"McGee is not the kind of person who would do that kind of damage...and how would he be able to do so against a trained Marine?" Ziva pointed out.

"Looks like it's your case, after all, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked back and saw Geri staring at the results on the monitor with a degree of unpleasant surprise.

"Yes, it would appear that, regardless of the circumstances, there is some connection between Timothy's disappearance and that of PFC Dallon," Ducky said.

"...but McGee? Beating someone to death? No way."

"Cause of death, Duck?"

"Severe blunt force trauma to the head. I found pieces of concrete in the wound."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_The second cycle is now complete. There will be a period of three days before the third cycle begins. Players will be informed of their rounds in less than 48 hours."_

"We've survived the second cycle," Don stated unnecessarily. He lifted a glass. "To your excellent instincts, skills, and training staff."

Cherie also lifted her glass. "I will admit that he exceded my expectations. I didn't think he'd win against military training."

"Townsend pushed him too hard. He does that a lot. In your capable hands, the military man would have gone all the way."

Cherie shook her head. "No. Those with the strength to survive will survive under any circumstance. He must have been weak."

Don shrugged and took a drink. "Regardless. It was a quick win and that is all to the better as far as I'm concerned."

"Worried?"

"Only that he won't go all the way. I've already recouped my initial losses."

"Then, I propose a toast to the strength of will to win." She raised her glass and Don clinked his lightly against hers. As she glanced at him over the rim, she thought wryly that it was a good thing _he_ wasn't an actual fighter. He was physically weak. It was only his economic and intellectual prowess which kept him from being ruthlessly weeded out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Mary, call for an ambulance!"

"Help...help..."

"We're getting help for you, sir. What happened?"

"Fight..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No!" Tony protested...loudly. "No! There has got to be another explanation than that McGee beat this guy to a bloody...and dead pulp!"

"I do not like it either, Tony," Ziva said, "but if it were any other person's DNA would you even question it?"

"No, but that's not the point! The point is that–"

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"The point is that PFC Dallon was murdered. He was found on the Susquehanna River in eastern Maryland. That's the first lead we've had about where McGee might be," Gibbs said, staring them both down. "It doesn't matter right now whether or not McGee killed Dallon or under what circumstances. What matters is that we _find_ McGee. ...before _he _ends up like that!" He pointed furiously at the image on the plasma of Dallon's broken face...and crushed head.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're in round three this time."

"Probably giving us a break after the last cycle."

"Probably. I think he's almost in the ideal situation anyway. That extra round happened to remove his only major competition...at least, from what I've seen."

"It'll be an exciting cycle."

"That it will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He lay on the pallet, eyes half-closed. One hand opened and closed, over and over. It was the same hand hanging limply over the edge of the pallet._

_He was trying his hardest to keep his thoughts away from anything but those that would keep him alive...and keep him from the pain. That was the most important thing. He felt pain all the time and he just wanted it to stop. He tried and tried to do what they wanted...but it was never good enough._

This is wrong.

_The thought arose from the miasma of his brain and then was subsumed beneath a wash of blankness designed to keep him from anything that might cause him more pain._

Would Gibbs do this? Would Tony? Would Ziva? This is wrong.

_Those names. He hadn't thought of them in days...or what he thought were days. They were a part of something else...some other life. Would they? Did it matter? _

_No. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but trying to stop the pain and trying to stay alive._

_Nothing else mattered._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Any idea where he went into the water?"

"Well, we have a few dams north of here. Couldn't get a body through those...well, not likely anyway; so he'd've had to go in below the Conowingo Dam. Once I got your message, I had men start searching the banks for signs, but so far, they haven't hit anything."

Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment, although he said nothing. The deputy kept speaking.

"I've been talking to people in the area. So far, no one has seen him before...except for a few who recognized him from the news." He shook his head. "I don't think you're going to find his killer around here."

"You got evidence for that?" Gibbs asked.

"Nope. Just a feeling in my gut. I think whoever killed your guy didn't do it here. This was just the dumping ground, although I have no idea why they picked this place."

Gibbs caught Tony's involuntary grin at the deputy's reference to his gut.

"You're probably right."

"We're still looking. Anything you want to see?"

"We're going to head to where they pulled the body out."

"Want me to direct you?"

Gibbs finally smiled. "Sure."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You have to stop them! You have to! Now! Not..." He rubbed at his head, trying to remember what it was that he wanted to say.

"Who do we have to stop, sir?"

"The ones who...who make us fight! You have to find them...and stop them...before they force them to kill the others."

The attending held him down.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He'd been left alone for hours. ...for a long time, anyway. He wasn't sure whether or not he liked that. The pain was receding. That was a good thing...but the delay. The delay couldn't be good. It would only mean something worse later on._

_...someone else to kill..._

_The door opened._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Will he kill on command?"

"Not instantly. Not yet. He still holds back. He still feels it's wrong, but he will do it to avoid the pain."

"But it is still a _choice_ he's making?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How much longer before he breaks completely?"

"Hard to tell. How much time do I have?"

"The third cycle begins in two days. I should be receiving my information soon. I would like him to be as close to broken as you can get him by that time."

"It will be difficult if you still want him able to fight."

"Is that not the reason why I pay you so much with every new match?"

The man nodded and gave an ironic bow. "I will do my best. He is being prepared as we speak."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim was dragged into the room and dropped in the middle of the floor. This was different. A shape...a figure of a man was suddenly in front of him._

"_Stand."_

_Tim hesitated._

_The man did not._

_Gasping for breath, Tim struggled to his feet, holding his abdomen._

"_Kill him."_

_Again, Tim hesitated. An arm, stronger than steel, wrapped around his throat. The voice in his ear was soft...menacing._

"_You do what I say when I say it."_

_He let go. Tim sagged to the ground, again, struggling to breath._

"_Stand."_

_Tim tried, but he felt so weakened. ...the kick that followed didn't help._

"_Stand."_

_Up._

"_Kill him."_

_Still, Tim hesitated. He hated this. He hated seeing it. He hated doing it. He hated everything about it._

_This time, his captor used the taser. Muscles spasming painfully, Tim again dropped to the floor, his whole body out of his control._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The two detectives from Lancaster PD looked at each other with a degree of skepticism after leaving the room.

"A fight club? You've got to be kidding."

"Worse, according to this guy. Involuntary."

They walked out of the hospital and headed for their car.

"We'll have to investigate it, just to be sure, but come on! This sort of thing doesn't happen!"

"I just hope it's _not_ true. Can you imagine if it was? According to him he was forced to kill someone to stay alive. Can you imagine having to live with that?"

"What I want to know is how he got away."

"What I want to know is, if it's true, how many others are in the same state."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The figure never seemed to have much, if any, life to it. It never fought Tim's killing grip. There was no cry for mercy, no harsh breathing. Only the soft yielding flesh that he destroyed...even as he destroyed himself. Only the crunch of bones breaking._

_If he hesitated when the kill command came, even for a second, he felt the pain of his disobedience. Even though he hadn't been tasered for hours, his muscles still ached and twitched from the repeated doses._

_He tried not to hold back, but it was so hard when it was simply him killing a person who wasn't making any aggressive moves. It was hard when he knew it was wrong._

"_Kill him."_

_Tim ran at the figure, grabbed it by the shoulders and forced it down onto the floor, ramming its head onto the ground over and over until he was forced (by a kick or another shot from the taser) to stop._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Mail moved fairly quickly via the United States Postal Service. Sure, letters were occasionally lost. There were delays, but in general it was quite reliable. Every second nearly 8,000 pieces of mail were processed by the USPS. The problems arose when the destination happened to be a federal agency...and it had no return address. It would be delivered, but understandably, there were additional safeguards with the intent of preventing such an occurrence as had arisen four years previously.

This caused delays.

These delays in mail delivery caused other delays...delays much more serious than a bill being a day or two late.

Delays which could be and were fatal for some.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Gibbs! You need to get back here! ...or maybe you don't. I don't know. Should I open it?"_

Gibbs sighed. When Abby was worried, she made life difficult for everyone.

"Abby, what are you talking about?"

"_You've got mail, Gibbs! Special delivery! No return address! What if it's about Tim? What if it's a ransom note?"_

"Abby, if it were a ransom note for McGee, they would have sent it to his _family_, not to NCIS."

"_What if they want information? About a case or something!"_

Gibbs didn't bother to mention how remote the odds were that Tim was alive in any case. Abby knew that. She was just choosing to ignore it. ...as they all were to some extent.

"_Please, Gibbs. Please, can I open it? It will take you an hour to get back here. Who knows what could be happening to Tim in that time?"_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"They don't believe me."

"Don't say that. They're good policeman. They'll investigate."

"But they don't actually believe me. They don't believe what I told them." He sat up in bed and looked at the nurse with tortured eyes. "I killed a man! I killed _two_ men! Do you really think I'd make something like that up? Do you think that I'd _pretend_ that I was forced to do that, to commit murder with my bare hands? Do you think I think that makes me _cool_?"

He was getting agitated again. It made him itch to fight. In the ring, as awful as it was, it was so simple. Stay alive. Kill the other person. There was no time spent _convincing_ anyone of anything. That simply wasn't allowed. Easy. ...and horrible.

The nurse was kind. She had been from the beginning...but he couldn't tolerate the kindness. He couldn't tolerate the delay. He just couldn't bear it. The longer the delay, the worse things would be for all the others.

There was no other choice. He had to find them himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The hallway was bright...but Tim didn't notice it at all. As soon as they pulled him out of that room, all intelligent activity had disappeared. He was a limp mass of flesh, one they dragged down to his cell and then dropped into a heap on the floor. He lay where he was dropped, twitching occasionally._

How many times can someone get tasered before it kills them?_ Tim asked himself._

_Almost. Almost he wished it would, but he didn't want to try it and find out...because it hurt. _

_Two words ran laps through his head. Two words that he couldn't let go, although he had almost succeeded in forgetting them. Two words...spoken so softly that he almost hadn't heard them. Two words whispered just before he had rammed that head into the floor for the last time._

_Two words._

_He whispered them, wishing that he could forget them._

"_Semper fi."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby looked eagerly at Ducky whom she had summoned at Gibbs' request. It was a large envelope, one of those cardboard things normally used to keep important documents from getting bent.

"He's here, Gibbs. Can I open it now?"

"_Go ahead, Abby."_

"Abigail, you realize that this could have absolutely nothing to do with Timothy, do you not?"

Abby ignored him. He was stating the obvious and she had no time for that. Instead, she ripped open the envelope and began to examine the contents.

"_Abby."_

"What?" Abby asked, her voice slightly shaky.

"_I can't see what you're looking at."_

Abby didn't answer. She began removing things, staring at them...and then handing them wordlessly to Ducky.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He left the hospital and struck out for the direction he hoped was the way to the place from which he'd run on instructions. He wasn't sure. He gave no thought to someone worrying about him. No one would miss him. No one had. He didn't matter. What he could do now was fight and kill people who deserved it...instead of people he was forced to fight and kill.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Photographs, Jethro. Thus far, I'm seeing photographs of people hanging from chains from the ceiling." Ducky squinted. "They are not good photos, taken secretly, I would guess."

"_Anyone we know?"_

"Not so far..."

Abby handed him another photograph.

"Oh...here is poor PFC Dallon."

Mutely, Abby pointed to a person in the background of the photo, almost out of view.

"Oh dear."

"_What?"_

"Timothy is in this photograph, Jethro. He is also chained."

Gibbs was silent for a long moment before he asked evenly, _"Is there anything else?"_

"Abigail?" Ducky asked. Abby's hands were clasping the envelope so tightly that her knuckles were white...with some red streaks running across them. "Abigail?" He reached out and pulled the envelope from her hands...with a bit of a struggle. "Jethro, it appears to be mostly photographs. PFC Dallon is in his uniform, which could possibly explain why this was sent here."

"_Any indication of a location in those photos?"_

"Not that I can see, but I have not scanned them all." Ducky looked into the envelope again. "Oh. Here is something else."

"_What?"_

"A message."

Abby's eyes were focused on Ducky, silently begging him to have good news. He skimmed the short sentences and then shook his head at her. She wilted into Gibbs' chair, although she was doing a good job so far of holding in her tears.

"_What does it say?"_ Gibbs' voice was wary.

With good reason.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Semper fi."_

_Those two words. Latin words. A motto._

_Gibbs was a Marine._

_Once a Marine, always a Marine._

_Tim's mind went around in frantic circles, running away from what his life had been like before this, avoiding thinking about what it was now. Life. It wasn't life. It was... worse than death. It was an existence he hated but one he couldn't give up._

"_Semper fi."_

_The tingling, the twitching...it was starting to calm down now. He was still on the floor. _

_It was cold. It was dark. He was alone._

"_Semper fi."_

_He could see it so clearly._

_He wished he couldn't._

_He could _feel_ it and it made him sick._

_He remembered that moment between those two words and the light fading from those eyes...eyes which had been as wild as his own, but eyes which had taken on sanity in the midst of total chaos._

"_Semper fi."_

_Gibbs was a Marine._

_Marines didn't kill innocent people. They defended them._

_Those eyes had met his and for a moment, Tim had wanted to stop. _

_He hadn't. Fear, pain, terror had all colluded in his head. Even now, he could justify what he'd done, no matter how much he hated that he'd done it._

_A single finger lifted and began tracing shapes on the floor of the cell. They gradually became letters. Letters became words._

_Two words._

"_Semper fi."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"_Tell me, Duck."_

Ducky looked at Abby and then down at the message.

"_Ducky! I don't have time for this!"_ Gibbs' angry voice was a cover for his anxiety which was only getting worse. Ducky could also hear Tony and Ziva in the background, asking for information.

Finally, he cleared his throat and began to read. "Agent Gibbs. You will probably not remember me, but we met briefly a few years ago. I was a member of the FBI, on Fornell's team...operative word being _was_. I was a fool, blinded by my perception of my own brilliance. I got some people killed. I was fired..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He ran through the trees, a feeling of being on the right track forcing him onward. It didn't seem possible but he truly was going the right direction. He would stop them. Stop them before anyone else who didn't deserve it died.

...but the ones who _did_ deserve it...

He would kill them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...No need to explain how I got involved in this monstrosity, but I was. I am. I'm a player in a game that uses human pieces. It's like playing chess, only with real people...and the people die. It's a fight club. People choose their fighter and then try to create a real fighter, someone who will do anything asked of him. I went along with it because I felt I had no other option...but it turned my stomach to see those people, hanging from chains. I have photos of them. I had to play along...and at first, I figured that I could do it. Wait until the game was over and get away. Until I realized that every fight was to the death. These people were being forced to kill their opponents in order to survive. No match ended until one of the players was dead..."

Abby whimpered. Ducky spared a hand to place it comfortingly on her shoulder.

"...When I realized the full scale of this thing, I knew I had to do something. I might be the scum Fornell thinks I am, but I know that stopping these people is more important than anything. I don't know exactly where I am, but I do know it's in southeastern Pennsylvania, near a town but outside it. The grounds are huge and no player interacts except during the matches...the _cycles _as they call them. I am going to get my player out. I can't bear to watch him in that ring again. If I can, I'll send all this to you, along with a general map of the area. I'll bet the FBI would throw it out as soon as they saw my name on it. Consider this my shot at redemption. Shawn Orson."

There was a period of silence and then Tony's voice.

"_Hey, I remember that guy. He was so irritating, thought he knew everything. Worse than Slacks."_

"_Is there a map, Ducky?"_

Ducky looked again in the envelope.

"I'm afraid that I don't–"

Abby, who had remained horribly silent through all this, plucked at Ducky's sleeve and pointed to the back of the letter.

"Oh, yes...thank you, Abigail. Yes, Jethro, there is a map of sorts."

"_Abby?"_

"Yeah, Gibbs." Abby's voice was very soft. She had passed through the hysterical part of fear and was securely in the horrific silence that lay on the other side.

"_I need you to send that to us out here. We'll head up that way, get some help from the local LEOs..."_

"Perhaps Fornell would like to be involved as well. Multiple kidnappings _would_ fall in their purview, I believe," Ducky suggested.

Silence greeted his suggestion.

"If this man wished for redemption, would not Fornell's participation be good to have...for his sake if nothing else? Besides, the FBI has the manpower to take down as organized a group as this appears to be."

"_Gibbs, there is no question that it would be useful to have a large group with us, particularly as we are only three in number."_

"You should call him, Gibbs," Abby said quietly. "Anything to take them down, to get Tim back...to stop him from..." Her voice trailed off.

"_It was probably a fluke, Abbs,"_ Tony said bracingly...but so heartily that no one believed him. _"McGee probably just talked them to death or threatened to write about them in his next book and so–"_

_Thwack!_

"_Shut up, DiNozzo. Call that deputy in here...and Ziva, you call Fornell, bring him up to speed. Let him make the decision."_

"_Do I tell him about Shawn Orson, Gibbs?"_

"_Tell him whatever. I don't really care. We're heading out. Now. If he wants to come, he can try and catch up."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Round one. Third cycle."

Cherie watched dispassionately as the pair fought. The ferocity was increasing as the humanity was slowly drained from the fighters. The two were nearly evenly matched. One of the few women who had survived the second cycle, a graduate student from NYU, versus a mailman from Connecticut. Both had been surprises in terms of their ability to fight. Now, they were facing off against each other...

...and then, suddenly it was over. The woman stared, almost in horror, as the man collapsed to the floor, air rattling in his throat. She had kicked him, in the chest, even the observers had heard the crack of his sternum. Part of it must have been driven into his heart. He was bleeding out into his chest cavity.

The winner walked out to do the march as soon as the woman was removed. Cherie thought she saw tears on the woman's face. With that kind of weakness, she would not last much longer. A cycle more at best.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The Marines are based on the Navy Yard...but then they have bases everywhere. This guy didn't necessarily have to be from the Yard.

_Tim's thoughts were stubbornly fixated on the man he had last killed. ...or at least the last man whose eyes he had seen. Even as he lay listlessly on the floor, waiting for the announcement of the next round. After having to fight more than once last time, he didn't try to think he knew when he'd fight again._

"_Round two."_

I killed a Marine.

_No one came to the door. In fact, he'd been left alone for a long time...again. He didn't bother trying to hate it or like it. He only bothered with the idea that he was still alive and that he would try to remain that way when he had to fight again._

I killed a Marine.

_He didn't even care about the many people he had killed after that Marine. All that mattered was the fact that, in killing a Marine, it was almost like he had killed Gibbs._

_At the very least, he had completely and utterly betrayed the man who had brought him onto his team, had destroyed his own morals by killing the people he was supposed to help._

_He didn't cry, but his voice rose above a whisper for the first time in days (other than the times he'd been screaming, of course)...and it was suffused with self-loathing._

"_Semper fi."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell sat with the phone at his ear, even though Ziva had already disconnected on the other end. Shawn Orson. That was a name that brought back memories. Bitter ones.

"Sacks, get a hold of whatever teams are available. Tell them that we're headed to Lancaster to coordinate with NCIS and the local LEOs there."

"For what?" Sacks got the look of distaste that always accompanied a mention of NCIS.

"To stop some bad people, Sacks. What do you think?" Fornell snapped. "If you'd rather stay here and mope, feel free." He walked away, ready to get the first available plane. If Gibbs was already on his way to Lancaster, then he sure wasn't going to wait to drive up there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He'd find them. He would. He'd kill every single one of them if he had to. He shouldn't have bothered telling the police. That wasn't the way. That wouldn't get the justice their victims deserved. In order for it to be truly fair, they'd each have to die. One death for each captive. If they had more than one death on their hands, then the death would be slow and painful.

...and if Shawn was dead, too, then he'd take vengeance for that as well.

They would scream for the mercy they refused to show to anyone else.

...and he would refuse to give it to them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This map isn't much of a map, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy observed.

"No, that it isn't, lad. We are currently hoping that those who live in the state might be able to place it."

Abby had lapsed into almost complete silence, a condition more unnerving than her usual frenetic worry. Jimmy gave her a glance, but Ducky simply shook his head and gestured for him to continue.

"Well, if they're going to Lancaster, I'll bet they're overshooting."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'll bet they're near the Susquehanna River. That's where we found the body, after all."

Abby let out a soft whimper. Jimmy swallowed nervously, but Ducky smiled and nodded.

"Wouldn't it be easier to focus the search near where the body was found? If we know that they're in southeastern Pennsylvania, wouldn't that mean that they should stay near the river?"

"Not necessarily, Mr. Palmer. These people could be very experienced in covering their tracks, after all."

Jimmy flushed and looked at the map again...and then, he looked more closely.

"Dr. Mallard?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Do you see this?" He pointed.

Ducky's eyes widened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs got off the phone and made an impatient noise. The people crowded around the table stopped bickering.

"Could _this_ line be the Susquehanna? Wouldn't that fit with the geography of the area?"

There was only a moment of silence. Then, the group of officers (along with a couple of long-time residents), began talking again, much more eagerly. Tony and Gibbs were trying to follow along, but they weren't even speaking in complete sentences anymore.

"This could be Mac, then and..."

"...and the Line...yeah...

"Pequea, then?"

"Too close?"

"No. Definitely."

"A lotta space out there."

"What's going on?"

The strident voice stopped the conversation in its tracks. Gibbs looked up.

"Nice of you to join us, Fornell." He looked back. "So you think this is where the map shows?"

"Has to be. With the river, the road. It's gotta be. Look at the real thing."

"You guys figure it out?"

"Looks like it. You want a lift?"

"Yeah, I doubt there are landing strips for you FBI types and your private jets," Tony said.

"You just wish that you had them, too, DiNozzo," Sacks retorted.

"Do I have to headslap _your_ people, too, Fornell?"

Fornell rolled his eyes. "We going to stop these people or not? I have three teams waiting on standby."

"Then, let's go. You lead us out, Sheriff," Gibbs said, gesturing for the man to precede him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Round three."_

_This time, he heard the voices. They opened the door, picked him up and dragged him out. Again, he paid no attention to his location or destination. He only woke up when they left him by the door._

_It opened. He stared at the man across from him. Suddenly, the magnitude of everything that he'd done hit him and he felt sick to his stomach. It was as if his entire existence had boiled down to the fact that he'd killed these people..._

_...and was about to do the same thing again. _

_...because he knew he would. He couldn't face feeling more pain. It was something that he couldn't bear to think of, even now, even loathing himself with every fiber of his being._

"_Semper fi," he said to the man._

_There was no reaction. _

_...and Tim threw himself into the fight, no longer thinking, no longer caring about anything but winning the right to continue to exist._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You see anything with that thing?" Gibbs asked.

"There's a hotspot in that building there."

"Okay. You send one of your teams into the other building. You and I can take the one there."

"Agent Gibbs..."

Gibbs looked at the sheriff. "You look in those outlying buildings. If this really is a big operation, then you might find some of the other...players out there."

"Boss?"

"What, DiNozzo?"

"Nevermind. Let's just take them now."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Madame..."

Cherie looked over her shoulder, irritated at the interruption. It was a terrible breach of the rules. Before she could reprimand him, he whispered in her ear. She started and then followed him away, melting into the darkness. Everyone else was focused on the fight itself and so missed that a select few were disappearing from the ring of spectators.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim had him. It was just a matter of time now. One solid elbow to the eye and he had heard the bone crack. He was half-blind. _

_He leapt forward, wrapping his arms around the man's waist, forcing him to the floor._

_There was a commotion, a sound. There had never been an external noise before. He held the man tight, his hands slowing choking him to death. The man began to flail his arms frantically, desperately trying to get air._

_Tighter and tighter._

"Federal agents! Freeze!"

_Those words. He knew those words. He knew those voices._

"McGee! What are you doing? Stop!"

_Involuntarily, his hands loosened. Immediately, the man gasped for breath and then the next moment, he surged upward, catching Tim in the face with his head. Tim jerked backward, losing his balance and fell to the floor._

"Don't move! Federal agents!"

"McGee!"

_The man was on him now, not content to choke Tim to death, he brought up his fist and punched him solidly on the temple. Lights sparkled in Tim's vision. Another blow. He brought up his own hands, trying to fend him off._

"Stop! The fight's over! Stop!"

_Then, there was screaming. Screaming voices, one male. Others. Tim tried to get up, tried to get back into the fight, tried to end it...but he couldn't stop his head from spinning. Couldn't stop those beautiful sparkles from spreading and merging._

"McGee."

_The face that loomed over him was familiar and he wondered when his opponent had changed. Still, he wouldn't lose. Not this time. He tried to swing his fist at the face, but for some reason, it wouldn't move. He tried again. Same result._

"McGee. Stop. You're all right now. You're safe."

_Tim blinked. He saw more faces that he knew. He'd never had to fight more than one on one before. Why change the setup now?_

"McGee, do you not recognize us?"

_Then, it clicked. It was a weak, wussy click, but his brain finally caught on to what was happening. He was looking at his rescuers._

"Semper fi,"_ he whispered._

_A tear escaped from his damaged eye and trickled down his cheek._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"You got them, Fornell?"

"You'd better believe it, Gibbs." Fornell glared at the well-dressed men and women he had surrounded, with the help of his team and a few of the Lancaster officers. "He all right?"

It was a useless question. Tim was very obviously _not_ all right. He was staring at Gibbs, Tony and Ziva as though he couldn't quite remember why he knew them. ...or at least, one of his eyes was. The other was bruised, swollen closed and there was blood coming from a nasty cut just below his eyebrow. There were infected scrapes running down Tim's neck. Four long slices. Perhaps from fingernails. His knuckles were bruised and cracked.

The other man had finally stopped trying to beat Tim to a bloody pulp and seemed to be in much the same mental state as his opponent. Both seemed utterly bewildered by the sudden shift from fighting to not. Both of them were wearing clothes that reeked of body odor, had numerous blood stains, and enough rips and tears that it was unlikely even the best repair shop could ever restore them. The smell was bad enough that it would be unlikely that even the worst repair shop would want to come within ten miles of those clothes to try.

"McGee, are there others?" Gibbs asked, urgently.

Tim stared at him longer than was usual and then simply didn't answer. He looked past Gibbs to the man...who stared back at him. It was clear they were both wondering if they should start fighting again. Tim's hand began to clench convulsively.

"McGee! Look at me."

Tim's one good eye shifted back onto Gibbs.

"What's going on?"

"A Marine," he said. "A Marine. Semper fi."

"McGee..."

"Like you. Bashed his head in. Over and over. Had to be sure." Tim's eye glazed over and he continued to talk in short bursts. Sentence fragments. "First, crushed his windpipe. Accident. Didn't know. Then, strangled. Then...rammed his head into the concrete. Crushed. Like a melon. In black. Always in black. Dead...over and over. No struggle. Tasers. Lots. Crushed head. Too easy."

Tony and Ziva looked a little sickened by what Tim was saying. Even with the broken thoughts, it was clear enough that he was talking about things he had done.

"Run to the wall. Run to the wall. Never make it."

Gibbs stood up to join Fornell for a moment, but Tim grabbed onto him unexpectedly. His hands squeezed Gibbs' arm until it hurt. He stared at Gibbs again, almost like he was _willing_ him to read his mind and know what had happened.

"I'll be right back, McGee. Can you let go?"

"I killed Marine, Boss," Tim said. "I killed a Marine. Semper fi. His eyes. Semper fi. Semper fi."

"It's all right, McGee," Gibbs said, gently removing Tim's hands. They left white marks on his arm, surrounded by red. "I'll be back."

As Gibbs walked to Fornell, Tim started to stand, although he didn't make it very far. At the same time, the other man also tried to stand. He was held back by Sacks, but he hadn't been trying very hard. It seemed like a habit, not a conscious intention.

"Stay down, McGee," Tony said, going for a gentle tone. ...but his voice merely sounded strangled.

Tim's eye moved back on the man being restrained by Sacks. His body tensed noticeably.

"McGee, don't."

Tim swallowed multiple times and Tony tightened his grip. He could feel Tim getting ready to spring, although the _why_ of the action was not clear. What _was_ clear was that Tim was currently operating on a plane that had little if anything to do with reality. Reality said that whatever had been happening here no longer needed to happen. All that was required was for him to stay where he was and eventually get treated for his injuries. Reality said that there was absolutely no reason for these two men to fight one another. Reality said that they were safe. Reality said that it was over.

Tim said that reality was wrong.

He tore himself from Tony's grasp and launched himself across the intervening space, colliding with the man _and_ Sacks. The man began fighting as well, the two of them showing a sudden burst of energy and strength, even when reality dictated that they should be too exhausted even to walk, let alone fight.

Reality was wrong.

There was no time for much beyond a frantic scrabbling. Tim's fists searched for a target. The man aimed for Tim's throat. Neither spoke, although Tim let out an inarticulate growling that sounded nothing like they'd ever heard from him.

"No!" Tony's shout brought the attention of Gibbs and Fornell, but they had to stay where they were to keep the others under guard.

Both Sacks and Tony hauled back on the two men. Ziva grabbed for Tim's wrists, pulling them down...or trying to pull them down. Tim was stronger than he appeared.

"Hey, stop!" Sacks said, rather ineffectually, as both men seemed beyond understanding words. He pulled him away, and, incidentally, out of the lighted ring. As soon as he was in the darkness, the man stopped moving, stopped fighting. In fact, he nearly dragged Sacks to the floor as he sagged into a near-catatonic state.

"McGee, you don't have to fight anymore!" Tony shouted, trying to hold him back.

Tim slowly stopped fighting to get at the man who was now little more than a rag doll. His one eye looked at Tony.

"You hear me, McGee? You got that?"

"It is over, McGee," Ziva said, still holding onto his wrists. "Please, listen."

Tim's eye moved to Ziva.

"Over?" he whispered.

"Yes, McGee. Over. No more fighting."

"Over?" he asked again. His damaged eye was so swollen that there was no sign at all of anything beyond bruised skin and drying blood.

"No. Fight...You have to fight...or die or..." He didn't sound certain, however.

"No, Probie. You're all right now. It's done. Finito. Ended. Gone. Over."

"Why?" Tim asked.

"Because we've arrested anyone who might make you fight anymore."

"I'm alive, then?" Again, he didn't seem certain of that.

"Yeah, McGee. You are." The restraining arms became more supporting, less restraining.

"I don't have to get to the wall anymore?"

Tony looked at Ziva who didn't understand that any more than he did.

"Uh...no, McGee. No more getting to the wall."

"I don't have to kill people anymore?"

"No," Ziva said instantly. "No, you do not."

Tim's eye moved from looking at anyone to looking...elsewhere.

"I smashed his skull. He bled a lot. Lots and lots of blood. Everywhere. I'll bet it took a long time to clean up."

Tony swallowed again. He really hoped Tim was just out of his mind and not knowing what he was saying. He didn't want this to be an accurate recap of what had been going on while he was missing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He crouched in the bushes outside the compound. He saw what no one else saw. He saw some of them escaping. In a group, he could do nothing.

He decided to follow them. They would have to separate sometime.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was standing, mainly because they hadn't been able to get his legs to bend enough to get him back down to the floor. He stood, staring with his one good eye, leaning on Tony at an angle that said he was not really able to stand at all.

"Fornell's people will take care of the suspects. Lancaster police are picking up the other...competitors," Gibbs said as he returned to the trio. "We'll take care of McGee."

"He was a Marine, Boss," Tim mumbled. "A Marine."

"Yeah."

"Wasn't fair. Already fought once. Shouldn't have had to go again. Just wanted it over." He stared at a stain on the floor. ...a bloodstain. "Again and again until it was. No more pain. ...always more."

"Okay, McGee. Let's go." Gibbs took Tim's other side and helped Tony get him moving. Tim kept talking.

"She said I was chattel. No names, just a tool. I said I was human. She said I wasn't. Killed. Over and over again."

Tim's feet moved in a parody of walking, but it was clear that he had next to no ability to walk on his own. Ziva led the way, out of the ring, into the hallway and up the stairs to the outdoors. Tim's head came up just a little when the night air hit his face.

"Outside?"

"Yeah, McGee. Just getting you to the driveway. It'll be easier for the ambulance," Tony said, at the same time thinking that he just wanted to get Tim out of that place that had transformed him into something alien.

"It's dark."

"It is night," Ziva said.

Tim's head dropped again.

"Tired of killing people."

"You do not have to."

"Lots in black. So many. Kicks. Pain. No more of it."

"That's right. No more."

They reached the driveway and waited...only for a few minutes, before the ambulance arrived. The EMTs could see in Tim something of what must have happened and they were careful in handling him.

"No," Tim said as they tried to get him onto a gurney.

"Go, McGee," Tony said. "We'll take care of things here and see you later."

"No."

"It is safe, McGee. It is all right."

"No!" Tim's here-and-gone-again energy enjoyed another surge and he pulled out of the grip of Tony and Gibbs. He started to run away, but only made it a few steps before he collapsed onto the ground. He curled into a ball and hid his head. "No. NomoreIdon'twantanymoreofitnononononono." His words ran together.

Gibbs knelt beside him. "You're going to be all right, McGee. We just need to get you to the hospital."

Tim looked at Gibbs. "He was a Marine, Boss. I killed a Marine."

Gibbs looked at his damaged agent and then sighed. "Okay, McGee. Okay." He looked at Tony and Ziva. "I'm going with him. You guys..."

"We'll be very annoying, Boss."

"Good." He turned his attention back to Tim. "Okay, McGee. I'm coming with you. Let's go."

This time, Tim allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Gibbs got in as well and Tony and Ziva were left watching them disappear into the distance.

"Hey, which of you NCIS people is Gibbs?" came a voice from behind them.

Tony turned. "Neither of us. Gibbs left. I'm Agent DiNozzo, senior field agent. What is it?"

"We think we found where your man was held. You want to check it out?"

No, Tony did _not_ want to check out the place that had been Tim's residence for the last couple of weeks. He did _not_ want to see what had been done to Tim that had created that person they'd seen.

"Yeah. Lead on."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're just going to open your shirt, sir."

"His name is Tim," Gibbs said quietly.

"Tim, you hear me?"

Tim nodded.

Gibbs, when he saw what the tattered remains of Tim's shirt had concealed, wished with all his heart that he hadn't seen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony felt ill. Ziva's expression suggested that she felt much the same.

"This is a lot like the others," the FBI agent said, his voice expressing his disgust and anger.

"How many other were there?" Ziva asked.

"Space for nearly forty, but only seven were...occupied when we found them. Two, this one and another, showed signs of recent use. There's...another room, just down the hall in this building. It's...bad."

"How bad?"

"Worse than this. You guys want to take responsibility for this one?"

"Yes."

"Okay. All yours. Fornell said that we should give you whatever help you need."

"Thanks," Tony said. He was staring without really paying attention to what was being spoken.

"You guys okay?"

That pulled him out of his shock. "Yeah. We're fine. Thanks. We need anything, we'll holler."

"You'll have to holler pretty loud. The buildings are spread all over." He handed them a radio. "Yeah, old school, but it's the best the LPD could do on short notice."

Tony smiled and nodded. Only after the agent left did his smile disappear.

"Can you believe this, Ziva?"

"Yes, but that does not mean I like it. Do you wish to go and see the other room he spoke of? Get it over with now?"

"Yeah. Might as well."

They walked down the hall together and opened the only other door. Immediately, they wished they hadn't.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

At first glance, they thought it was simply a dummy. A doll, dressed all in black. ...and in a sense it was. A twisted, horrible sense.

It was a corpse. Any of the obvious injuries on it would have been fatal...eventually. Taken all together... The skull was crushed. There were signs of strangulation. The chest had a caved in quality that said the ribs had been broken...probably the sternum as well. The face was...hardly a face anymore. Even Ziva looked sickened by the sight.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"God have mercy," the EMT said quietly.

Gibbs couldn't help silently agreeing. Just what they could see was bad enough. There was scarcely an inch of Tim's torso that was not bruised or cut...or burned. There were small paired indentations all over him. Tasers burns. The cuts were infected, crusted with old blood.

Tim wasn't unconscious. In fact, his one eye was fixed on Gibbs, as if he feared that he would disappear.

"McGee, what..."

Tim's eye closed. He took a deep breath, opened his eye and stared at Gibbs again.

"I'm just going to start treating your injuries, Tim."

Tim made absolutely no reaction. He just stared.

Gibbs never had much to say...except when he got angry...but now, he wished he _could_ think of something to say. He rather doubted there were any words that could make Tim feel any better.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The room was long and narrow, the walls marked with occasional niches. There wasn't much else in it besides the corpse. It was all in black, but the clothes were ripped and torn...much like Tim's had been. The room smelled. It was the stench of decaying flesh.

"How much time do you think he was in here?"

"Too long," Ziva said and walked farther inside. She knelt beside the corpse. "Tony..."

"Yeah, it's gross."

"No. That is not it."

"What?"

Ziva looked up. "I mean...yes, it is gross, but I am not certain that McGee killed this man."

"He says he did," Tony said, in a tone that said he was willing to be convinced otherwise.

"McGee has also been missing for two weeks under circumstances shown here. He is not able to be clear enough to trust. Now, come and look!"

Reluctantly, Tony joined her at the battered body. It wasn't that he hadn't seen as bad or worse before. He just didn't like seeing the results of Tim's handiwork.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, I want you to follow my finger with your...eye."

The finger moved. Tim's eye did not. He stared straight ahead, to where Gibbs was standing just behind the doctor.

"McGee, do what he says."

Gibbs hadn't expected a response, but he got one.

"Why?"

"He's making sure you're okay." _...which you're not, but we won't talk about that part of it._

"Okay."

The doctor moved his finger again and this time, Tim's eye followed it...slowly. After the test was completed, Gibbs was surprised to see a small smile on Tim's face. It was a rather twisted smile...and would have been even if his face _hadn't_ been hamburger, but it was at least an expression.

"So...am I okay? Did the magic finger demonstrate my continued survival?"

The doctor smiled a little uncomfortably. "You have a minor concussion, Tim, but even though it appears that you've had a few different knocks pretty recently, you're not doing too badly."

"Thanks for that," Tim said. He began clenching his fist. Open. Close. Open. Close. He swallowed and his body began to tense up.

"Doc?"

"Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs was looking at Tim's hand. "I think you should back off just a bit."

"What?"

"McGee, you all right?"

"Why do you keep asking that?" Tim shouted suddenly. A moment before he had seemed semi-comatose. Now, his strange energy has resurged. "Do I _look_ all right to you? Would _you _be all right?" He leapt off the bench.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_We found him, Ducky,"_ Tony said...but his voice was not exactly excited about it.

Abby sat up straight and grabbed Ducky's arm.

"That is wonderful news, Tony."

"Where is he?" Abby asked, eagerly.

"_He's...probably at the Lancaster Hospital. They'll be transferring him closer later...but...right now."_

"How badly is he injured?"

A long pause. _"Bad enough, but not too serious, I don't think. He looked pretty bad. Ducky...we're going to need you to come out here. We have a body for you to process."_

"What body?" Abby asked.

"_I don't know who...he was, Abbs,_" Tony said, but his words were a cover for something. Even Abby could tell that much, and it frightened her enough that she didn't ask him to elaborate.

"Very well. Send us the location and Mr. Palmer and I will set out."

"_Thanks, Ducky. Soon as you can."_

"Wait, Tony! What about Tim?" Abby shouted.

"_He's alive, Abbs. He was...fighting when we found him...and...and I need to get back to work, Abbs."_ There was a click.

"He hung up! He hung up on us, Ducky!"

"Yes, that would seem to be the case. I believe I should prepare to leave."

Ducky stood and walked back to the elevator. Abby sat down and, almost against her will, she pulled up the photos documenting Dallon's injuries. She knew what was required to create them.

...and she knew who had done it...

"He was fighting," she whispered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs caught Tim as his body slowly collapsed, turning an attack into a fall.

The doctor hurried forward to help ease Tim back onto the table, horizontally this time.

"We need to get him to X-ray. ...maybe it would be best if we left him unconscious for it?"

"He's not crazy, but he's had a rough couple of weeks. He just needs the time to adjust to the shift." Gibbs said the words but he wasn't sure if he was right.

"Mmm-hmmm..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They were beginning to split up. Now, he had to decide which ones he would track. He dismissed the women without a thought. Craven, he might be, but he didn't think he could hit a woman...unless she hit him first.

He picked out two of the men. One of them had been the head, beginning the whole horror show. He'd go down first. The other looked weak...a bean counter...someone who had never really descended from the ivory tower and experienced how bloody the world can be.

That would change.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You did not tell them," Ziva said. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement.

"No. No, I didn't." He began documenting the room.

"Do you think that is the best course of action?"

"Until I can think about it without wanting to puke, yes."

Ziva didn't respond.

"You think that's a mistake, huh."

"Well, it is...it will not make what happened _not_ have happened, Tony."

"Until I hear McGee say it himself...when he's in his right mind and speaking in complete sentences, then I can pretend that it's not true."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He'll be groggy for a while. That was a nasty knock he got. Hairline fractures all around the orbital. He's lucky that the vitreous didn't leak into his sinus cavity."

That sounded unpleasant.

"What about when he wakes up?"

"As soon as we're sure there are no other major problems, we'll arrange for transfer to Bethesda. His injuries, while numerous, are not life-threatening."

That was apparently supposed to be a good thing.

"That's not what worries me."

"Yes, well...I'm sure the staff at Bethesda will be better equipped to deal with any other repercussions."

He wanted to curl into a ball and hide from the world. He wanted to pretend that his memory of being rescued was real...or better yet, that his memories of the last...span of time were all a dream...a nightmare. That would be better than facing the fact that he'd have to fight again. Since he was alive, he must have won.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky looked at the house.

"Are you sure this is the correct address, Mr. Palmer?"

"You're the one who gave it to me, Dr. Mallard. I can't see any other place."

A man stepped out of the house. "You the NCIS guy?"

"I suppose I would answer to that description, yes."

"Great. This way. We've got the FBI ME headed in for a couple of other bodies we found, but I guess you have to keep your own stuff in house. We would do the same." The man was nearly babbling...and he wasn't a newbie. "Your area is going to be back this way, across the first lawn."

"The first la–?" Ducky's question trailed off into nothing when he saw the houses sprinkled here and there across a vast open space.

"The first lawn."

"They're all connected by tunnels. No one had to come outside if they didn't want to. Don't know why it's designed this way, but it is."

"And we are across the first lawn?"

"Yes. This house here. Well, that's using the term loosely. A house implies some sort of comfort...and these places. They don't have them. Not at all." The man paused and stared at another house.

"You found others?"

"Yeah. Seven others who were alive...using the term loosely. One of them was a woman. She started screaming when we came in, convinced that we were going to..." He stopped talking. "Anyway. This is where you'll be. Take a deep breath. It doesn't smell very good in there." Then, he turned and walked away.

Jimmy looked at Ducky with a little bit of apprehension.

"Doctor?"

"Yes...yes...Mr. Palmer, let us confront the unknown. Things are usually better that way...although I tend to think that in this case, it is a case of reality being worse than what can be imagined."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's in here? He's right in here?"

"Abby, calm down."

"Calm down? Calm _down_?! Tim is in there and you're telling me to calm down?"

"Yes. Calm down. He's still asleep and the last thing he needs is you being like this."

Tim heard them. He was not asleep, but Gibbs was right. He didn't want to see Abby. Actually, he didn't want to see any of them. Since awakening a few minutes ago, his memory sharp and clear as ever, he had a growing desire to get away from them all. He didn't want to be laying here on this bed, being cared for. He wanted to be... He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew what he _didn't _want.

"Fine, Gibbs. I'm calm. I want to see him. I want to know that he's okay."

"Abbs...he's not."

_No, I'm not._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well?" Tony asked.

Ducky didn't reply. Instead, he continued his preliminary examination.

"No sign of rigor. Lividity is complete. Skin is cool to the touch, body temperature has reached that of the room, perhaps, slightly cooler."

"There is a fridge through that door," Ziva said softly. "It is a large fridge...and empty, although I found some blood in it."

Ducky nodded.

"Ducky...did he do it?" Tony asked.

"Anthony, you and Gibbs both know that I dislike being forced to give a conclusion before conducting my full examination," Ducky said with some heat...but then, he sighed. "However, under the circumstances, I suppose I can understand your desire for information. I don't know...but I would guess that Timothy did _not_ kill this man. However, the number of injuries present on this body means that I will _not_ guess on cause of death. That will have to wait until I get him home. Mr. Palmer, whenever you're ready."

"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy looked at the body and tried to feel something about it...and found that he didn't. That was slightly disconcerting...even more than knowing that it was likely the damage done to the corpse had been done by Tim. That was wrong, but it didn't bother him as much as this affliction of apathy. He'd never been squeamish about bodies, not at any time in his life, but he'd usually felt _something_. He swallowed and got to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The eyes were the worst part. You could always tell when someone shifted from living to dead by looking at the eyes. No matter how much they might have stared blankly before death, when someone was dead, there was a different look. ...and before they died, seconds before their lives ended, they knew it was happening...and whatever idea they had about the nature of death was reflected in their eyes.

The first man's eyes had been crazy up until that last moment. Death had come as a sweet release. His eyes had been brown.

The second man had been afraid...the whole time. Every moment the fight had lasted he had been terrified and when death came in on him, delivered by Tim's hands, he had been more frightened still. He had been one of those people with different colored eyes. One blue. One hazel.

The Marine had looked Tim in the eye the whole time. He had never looked away...not until his eyes had closed with that motion, that head-smashing motion. His eyes had been green. They had been large, expressive eyes. He hadn't feared death, but neither had he wanted it. It was just something else he had to deal with.

The eyes wouldn't leave him alone. They just wouldn't. He could see them, even though his own eyes were closed. Well, one was closed because he had no other option. The other was closed in an attempt to make reality go away.

What he really wanted to do was not allowed because he couldn't let them see how much it bothered him. He couldn't let them know that every breath, every moment he remained alive was a breath and a moment he shouldn't have.

_I'm a murderer._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"You seem rather subdued, Mr. Palmer," Ducky commented as he prepared to autopsy the body.

Jimmy shrugged and put on the face shield.

"I know it can't be the smell as we've had worse. This body is remarkably undecomposed."

"I'm ready, Doctor," Jimmy said.

"Very good, my lad. Let us proceed."

The autopsy did not proceed in silence...because Ducky was there and he was rarely silent.

"There. You see, Mr. Palmer? This rib cage has been completely crushed, but what do you notice about the injuries?"

Jimmy leaned over and, although he was worried that he still felt absolutely nothing about this, he allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation.

"No bruising on the skin. No sign of internal bleeding."

"Precisely! These injuries were done post mortem." He continued on. "See the sternum? It is also cracked, but again..."

"Postmortem. Probably done at different times."

"Yes!" Ducky said with a flourish. Then, he suddenly noticed Jimmy's weak smile in return. "Whatever is the matter, Mr. Palmer?"

"Nothing, Doctor!"

"Are you certain? This certainly must be a bit of a shock for you, seeing the damage inflicted by someone you know."

"It's not, Dr. Mallard."

Ducky just looked at him.

Jimmy looked down, staring into the chest cavity of this nameless corpse whose body now lay open to the world.

"That's what's wrong."

"What is, lad?"

"I'm not shocked. This doesn't bother me...at all." Jimmy paused for a moment. "...and that bothers me!"

"You've never been squeamish about working with gruesome corpses, Mr. Palmer. It's one of your assets."

"But shouldn't I feel _something_ about this guy? I mean...if nothing else, McGee might have killed him. Shouldn't that bother me?" Jimmy burst out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a strange sort of disconnect which accompanied his next awakening. Tim didn't feel anything. Nothing at all. No pain. No guilt. No regret. No anger. Nothing. He was lying on his side, breathing slowly, not moving. He seemed to have successfully shut down his brain to all higher functions.

It was a relief and he intended to hold onto that numbness for as long as he possibly could. He didn't care what it took to maintain it. Anything to hold back the pain.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"When will you go and visit him?" Ziva asked.

"When he's at Bethesda and more conveniently located," Tony said with an airiness he couldn't quite carry off.

"And what will you tell him?"

"About what?"

"He will ask, Tony. He will want to know the details of the case. This is McGee. He will want to know why he was taken if he does not know already. He will want to know what happened."

"He'll ask about Jethro...unless he knows already," Tony added softly.

"Yes. I had not considered that."

"I don't know." Tony looked at the information they'd gathered...and that which had come from the FBI.

"Nor do I."

Tony rallied quickly. "It's Probie! He'll be okay. Sure, it must have been bad at first...all that fighting and stuff, but he'll be okay after he gets some sleep."

"I am not certain sleep is going to make everything better."

"It'll help."

"Enough?"

"I don't know, Ziva. Got it? I don't know. Can't you just let me pretend everything is okay for a while?"

"What is it about you and Abby? She wishes to freak out about inconsequentials and you wish to pretend that when things are bad that they are not. Can neither of you accept reality as it is?"

"Oh, because you always do that?" Tony shot back. "You who couldn't even see beyond your..." He stopped talking and looked back at the screen.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Tony?" Ziva stood up. "What is it that you wish to accuse me of? You wish to say that I made a mistake? You wish me to tell you that I have occasionally made errors in my judgments of people? I have."

"Good."

"But I also can admit that whatever has happened to McGee might be the kind of thing that will be difficult for him to deal with, that his experience may change him, that, right now, things are not good. Captivity is a hard thing to deal with...for anyone. I can admit that. Can you?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It would take time to get things right. He knew that. He also knew that if he got caught, he would be punished...arrested...imprisoned. What he planned required that he be free. After he found them and killed them, he didn't care what happened. His life was ruined already.

It would be worth it to take them down.

No matter the cost.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky didn't answer Jimmy, who felt rather embarrassed at his outburst. He gave him a _look_, but he said nothing, allowing Jimmy to pretend the words hadn't been spoken at all. Instead, they continued with the autopsy.

...and they found something that not even Ducky could have expected.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They had left the room. Tim was relieved. He didn't want them there, but he didn't want to open his eyes and tell them so. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to try explaining it to them. Instead, he waited for a while...just until he was sure that no one was coming in. He opened his eyes. He was on a bed. It was comfortable, more or less. He had an IV in his arm, more than likely giving him important nutrients he'd been lacking for the last...period of time. He still had no idea how long he'd been in that place. He couldn't remember what he'd been given to eat there, although logic dictated that he must have eaten _something_...and had water as well. He'd more than likely be dead otherwise.

Since he wasn't...

A soft laugh escaped his lips. He guessed that there was something in his head which had engaged, allowing him to think these pseudo-rational thoughts. He didn't kid himself that he was thinking clearly. That was one thing he _hadn't_ been doing. In fact, he had intentionally _not_ allowed himself to think clearly. Reason and logic would have gotten him killed.

Thinking about how close he must have come to being killed made him anxious. He sat up, looking around, certain that there was someone just out of sight, waiting to cause him more pain. His chest tightened and he couldn't help it. He had to move, had to get away from this feeling...but that IV...

He looked at it. Tim was sure that it was probably important, but he didn't want it right now. Right now, that IV was nothing more than a tether, a shackle, preventing him from moving, preventing him from escaping. Escaping what didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was being held captive.

Without another thought, he grasped the line, just below the bag and pulled it out. Then, he left his bed...and walked to the window.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Did Ducky say what he wanted?" Tony asked.

"No, and you have managed to ask me that four times," Ziva retorted. "We are not very far from Autopsy. Perhaps you could simply wait and ask him."

Tony didn't answer, but his eagerness was apparent as they walked to the doors to Ducky's domain. He didn't even pause, but surged ahead of Ziva and opened the doors first.

"What do you got, Ducky?" he asked.

"Mr. Palmer and I have discovered something intriguing about our body."

"McGee _didn't_ kill him?"

"Unknown, but unlikely."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"This man suffered a gunshot wound to his head. There is evidence of massive cerebral hemorrhaging...and we found the bullet as well."

"Was there not extensive damage to his skull, Ducky?" Ziva asked. "Is it not possible that the hemorrhage was caused by the other injuries?"

"Possible, but again, unlikely. The bleeding in the brain came from the damage done by the bullet, and many of the head injuries were caused postmorten, showing no signs of bleeding."

"So...this guy was shot...and then beaten _after_ he was dead? Why?"

"That I wouldn't know."

"Training," Ziva said shortly.

"_Training_? You want to call that room some sort of rec room or gym?"

"No. I would guess that they were training him to kill. It is a common practice in the madrasa schools run by terrorists. They train the children to kill before their morals can dictate the sanctity of life."

"McGee's hardly a kid."

"No, I understand, Tony," Ducky interrupted. "Because McGee is an adult, the training would have been different."

"Yes," Ziva said, but she did not seem happy about her knowledge. "It would have taken a lot of effort to make McGee do the things he did."

"So...why kill the guy first?"

"I do not know. Perhaps because it was easier to maintain a corpse than to kidnap the living."

"So...what would they do?"

"You, I am sure, do not want to know, Tony. ...not if you wish to pretend that things are okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Abby, you can't come at him like this."

"Why not, Gibbs? Tim doesn't mind. He _likes_ being hugged."

Gibbs sighed. Abby was normally so intelligent. It sometimes amazed him how easily she could set that aside and simply react. It required a lot more effort from him...and a lot more talking to get her to think it through.

"Abby, think about it. He's not in a good state right now. He'd probably be more likely to hit you than to accept your hug. It may seem like an attack."

"He wasn't gone that long, Gibbs!"

"Long enough that he would have attacked me simply because he got angry, but he collapsed first. Long enough that he killed a Marine with his bare hands. Abby, according to him he bashed the man's head in by ramming it into the concrete floor...more than once."

"He's..."

"He's hurt, Abby. He's not okay...and you have to stop thinking about yourself and think about how he's been doing."

"What about Jethro?"

"What about him?"

"Well...shouldn't Tim know that–?"

"No. Not right now. Later."

"He should know."

"Later!"

Abby sighed rebelliously...but made no effort to disagree. She had been beside Tim for hours, wanting him to wake up and he hadn't. She was so worried about him, wishing that she could comfort both him and herself in her usual way. She didn't want to admit that it wouldn't help.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a fire escape outside the window. Tim tried to open the window. It wouldn't open. He spent about ten seconds staring at it. Then, he walked to his bed, picked up the stand holding the IV bag and carried it to the window.

He sighted along it and then threw it at the window.

The glass shattered. He pulled it back and threw it again. More glass shattered. He walked to the window and used the stand to knock the rest of the glass out. Then, he threw the stand on the floor and climbed through to the fire escape.

It never occurred to him to try the door. Doors didn't lead to anywhere good.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell looked at the list of names. He was correlating the files the FBI had found in that compound with names of missing persons. They had been taken from all over the Eastern seaboard, from Maine down to Florida. None of them were the same type. Some had families. Some didn't. Some were male, some female. Some had been missing for more than a month, some for a couple of weeks. Bodies had been found for many of them...but not all.

The survivors were in varying stages of sanity. A couple had rallied quite well. They'd need therapy of course, but they seemed like they'd be okay. Others...like the woman they'd found, the man who had been fighting Tim, Tim himself...they were in a state of shock and seemed unable to accept that they were free. The woman would not let any male near her, not even her boyfriend or her father. None. The man, a marathon runner from Kentucky, had not come out of his shock-induced catatonic state. His wife and children had already made arrangements to move him closer to home. Tim was...sleeping at last contact...but before collapsing, he had attempted to continue the fight. It was something he seemed to have embraced.

So many lives had been ruined, destroyed, altered by these...people. It seemed wrong to call them that. The interviews were just beginning and already a couple of agents had asked to be excused from conducting the interrogations. They knew very little at this point beyond the details provided by Shawn, but they did know that the leaders had escaped somehow.

He picked up another file, this one compiled by the FBI. With a sigh, he flipped it open and saw the arrogant face of Shawn Orson. They had found his body on the grounds in a shallow grave. It seemed to have been a temporary placement, based on how careful they'd been about getting rid of the other bodies. They were trying to track down Shawn's father, but the contact information was out of date.

What kind of fallout there'd be from all of this, he didn't know. ...and he was a little afraid of finding out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby noticed the commotion, people running down the hall, in and out of one of the rooms. She felt Gibbs' hand tighten on her arm...and it almost made her smile. He knew her much too well.

"Agent Gibbs, Tim is gone!"

The hand tightened even more.

"Where is he?" Abby asked, knowing that it was a stupid question. If they knew that, they wouldn't be so worried.

Gibbs, never loosening his grip, followed the nurse to the room. Sure enough, no Tim and Abby had to exercise every particle of self-control she possessed (and admittedly, she didn't have many of them) to keep from freaking out and stupidly calling Tim's name.

"It wasn't someone breaking in," Gibbs said, finally letting Abby go with a squeeze that was both reassurance and warning to stay calm. "No glass inside."

"Tim did this himself? Why?"

"To get away."

"Where to?"

"Out, obviously." Gibbs walked to the window.

"Those windows aren't supposed to open," the nurse said.

"Hence the use of the stand," Abby heard her own voice saying. "Maybe you should rethink that."

She followed Gibbs to the window.

"Has anyone checked the roof?" Again, that was her voice speaking the words...but she wasn't sure where they were coming from because she hadn't planned on saying anything at all. She just couldn't hold them back.

"I'll check. You wait here."

"Gibbs! I want to come!"

"You wait here, Abby," Gibbs ordered. "If he's up there, I'll talk to him, get him to come back down. If he's not, we'll think of somewhere else to look. In the meantime...stay here. That's an order."

Abby nodded with extreme reluctance and then watched as Gibbs climbed out the window and up the fire escape. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down on the bed recently occupied by Tim and wrapped her arms around herself.

It didn't help.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Gibbs climbed up the fire escape, wondering whether it would be better or worse to find Tim up on the roof. At the same time, he was hoping that he _would_ find him up on the roof because at least then they'd know where he was. ...and he wouldn't be splattered on the pavement like a dropped watermelon.

Tim was there. When Gibbs reached the top, he saw Tim, lying on his back in the middle of the roof, spread-eagled, staring at the threatening sky with his one eye. The swelling would eventually go down, but at the moment, he looked rather demented and dangerous. ...and terribly alone. There was something about the way he had spread out his body, as if he was reaching for an elusive goal. It was tragic.

Gibbs walked over to him.

"Go away."

He hadn't expected words. He hadn't expected anything like normal thought. He wasn't sure that what Tim was thinking could possibly be defined as normal, even for him, but that he was aware enough to notice Gibbs' presence was a little surprising.

"Go away." Tim's voice was soft but insistent.

"I won't do that, McGee."

"Why not?"

"You think you're better off alone?"

"Yes. Go away."

"Why?"

"I don't want you here."

He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound afraid. He sounded...dead.

"Why?"

"Go away."

"Why did you come up here, McGee?"

"To get out."

"Why?"

"Stop asking stupid questions."

Tim didn't move, didn't even _try_ to move. His body was stretched out to its fullest extent...and Tim was not a small person. The hospital gown was revealing to say the least. It covered Tim's torso, but his arms and legs were fully visible. Two weeks hadn't been enough time to get rid of all the extra flesh Tim had, but it had been enough to make that flesh seem out of place on a body that was ripped and torn. The bruising which Gibbs had seen on Tim's chest had been applied to his legs and arms as well. His arms had a series of long deep cuts, all stitched closed but showing the unmistakable signs of infection around the edges. There were similar cuts on his legs.

Gibbs came closer.

"Stay away from me."

"Why?"

"Because I kill people."

"You want to kill me?"

"I didn't want to kill anyone...but I still did it." Tim's eye blinked once. "Don't underestimate me. I can do it."

"I never do."

"Go away."

"I won't do that." He sat down, inches from Tim's outstretched hand.

"Go away."

"No."

It was an interesting conversation they were having, Gibbs decided. Neither saying very much, but both hearing things beyond what was being said.

"I did what they wanted me to do. Everything. I would have done more, but I just couldn't."

"Willingly?"

"Yes. I would have done anything. Anything at all. I just didn't want them to hurt me anymore."

"I can understand that."

"No. No, you can't."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you've willingly hurt people to get information before, Boss. You can't understand how it feels to be on the other side. If you'd felt that...you'd never want to inflict it on someone else."

"...unless I've been on the other side...and used that to my advantage."

Tim was silent for a while and Gibbs chose to lay down beside him, just out of reach.

"Why did they? What did they want from me? They never asked any questions."

"They didn't have any."

"What?"

"They were playing a game...betting on who would win the fights. They forced you to fight because it was a game to them."

"A game." The voice didn't sound so dead anymore, although there was still no sign of movement.

"Yes. A game. A fight club."

A hacking caw of a laugh emerged from the person next to him and Gibbs decided it was one of the worst sounds he'd ever heard.

"And the first rule of Fight Club is..."

"What?"

"Do not talk about Fight Club."

That same edge he'd heard before began to take over Tim's voice and Gibbs tensed, ready to fend off another attack should Tim lose control again.

"A game."

"Yes, McGee."

Tim swore. Gibbs couldn't really blame him for it, although it was a word he was surprised Tim even _knew_, let alone would say.

"I'm going to kill them." So matter-of-fact.

"What?"

"I'm going to kill them. Each one of them."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. I won't need my gun. I can use my hands. I've had lots of practice lately." Tim's voice still had that edge but otherwise he sounded completely calm.

"No, Tim."

"Yes. I want to see each one of them die. I want to be looking in their eyes as the life ebbs out of them and I want them to know that it isn't a game. I want them to feel pain as they die. I want them to be in agony and I want it to take a long time. I'll kill them all...and it will hurt. I'll make sure of that."

"You won't do that."

"Yes, I will."

"No, you won't."

"Why?"

"Because I won't let you do that to yourself."

Another hacking caw.

"You won't have a choice, Boss. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to find the woman who chose me. I'll go into the jail if I have to and I'll kill her. I'll do it."

"No, you won't."

There was a rumble of thunder.

"What are you doing out here, McGee?"

Tim was silent, not moving, not speaking.

"We want to help you."

"I felt trapped."

"Why break the window?"

"It wouldn't open."

"Why not use the door?"

"I don't know what's out there."

"What did you expect to find?"

"Nothing...not when I think about it."

He sounded strangely sane, as if he was watching the behavior of someone else and commenting on it.

"Are you thinking about it now?"

"I'm thinking...that I wish I had lost."

"You'd be dead."

Silence.

"You'd be dead, McGee."

"Why is that such a bad thing?"

"You want to die?"

"I wish that I had lost."

"Why?"

Then, in another explosion of that same energy that allowed him to shift from enervated to enraged, Tim leapt to his feet and began shouting.

"Because then I wouldn't have killed anyone!" His hands were clenched into fists and he was staring down at Gibbs. "Then, I wouldn't be alive to...to _feel_ this!"

"Feel what?" Gibbs asked. He felt exposed, in danger, in this position, but he wanted Tim to know that he wasn't afraid of him. ...even if he really was.

"To know what it feels like to kill someone...to...to...use my hands to kill someone!" He was screaming the words.

Time to stand up. As he did, he noticed that Tim backed away from him, unconsciously adopting a fighting stance.

"I'm not going to hurt you, McGee," Gibbs said, keeping his voice soft.

"_I _don't want to hurt _you_!" Tim was nearly hyperventilating.

There was a flash of lightning and it began to rain.

"Then, don't. You don't have to, McGee. All you have to do is take a deep breath and calm down."

"I can't calm down! I don't want to calm down! Okay? I don't want to _calm down_!" He screamed the last words over a rumble of thunder.

"Why not?"

Tim began pacing back and forth in agitation and Gibbs noticed the IV line hanging down from his arm. The needle was still in his arm, but the tube just dangled freely, swinging back and forth. It seemed significant to Gibbs somehow that it was there. He just wasn't sure why.

"Why not, Tim?"

Tim walked away toward the far end of the roof...toward the edge of it. Gibbs followed, hoping against hope that he wasn't going to have to deal with Tim becoming a jumper.

...but when Tim reached the edge, he simply collapsed to his knees and stared down.

Gibbs knelt down beside him.

"What's going on, Tim?"

"I don't want to think about it," Tim whispered.

The rain intensified and the wind picked up as the front passed through.

"About what?"

"I...I killed people, Boss. I don't even know how many. I killed them. I killed a Marine. I killed a Marine. I killed a Marine. I killed a Marine. I killed–"

"Stop, Tim." Gibbs touched his shoulder. "Stop. I know what you did. It's not your fault."

"I made a choice. I chose to commit murder. There's no excuse."

"Yes, there is. You made a choice...but it was a choice forced on you by _torture_! That isn't right."

Tim began to tremble. He seemed to shrink in on himself, becoming small.

"I never could make it to the wall. I tried so hard." A tear slipped down his cheek. "I just wanted to reach the wall. The light always went out." Another tear followed the first. "I never made it. I only did in the ring. I only was able to kill. I killed a Marine, Boss."

"I know, McGee. I know." Gibbs took a chance and put his arm around Tim's shoulder. He felt the momentary tensing but then Tim started to cry. He was trying not to, but he was crying all the same. "You ready to go back inside?"

"I don't want to remember what I did."

"I can't promise that."

"I just didn't want them to hurt me anymore."

"I know."

Tim slumped against Gibbs.

"I'm sorry, Boss. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to, but I did it anyway. I didn't want them to die...but I didn't want to hurt."

Now supporting Tim, not just comforting, Gibbs tightened his grip and pulled him up to standing. The rain was pouring down. It was impossible to tell which drops on Tim's face were from rain or from tears.

"You don't have to apologize, McGee. I understand. You ready to get out of the rain now?"

"They kept me in a cell, in the dark. They never let me out. Never. They...they hurt me, Boss."

"Is that a no?"

Tim shivered.

"We're going inside. You're not dressed for the weather." Gibbs took a step and felt Tim step with him. He was relieved that Tim could accomplish that much...but Tim's words, as they descended the fire escape again, didn't make him feel any better.

"I'm still going to kill them, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He looked so at ease. That would change. It would change soon. He'd face the consequences for his crimes.

He'd kill them all, but he'd start with this one.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Timmy, you're soaking!" Abby said fretfully as they re-entered through the shattered window. "Let me get a blanket!"

Tim said nothing in reply to her comments. He came inside and barely reacted when she wrapped a blanket around him.

"Tim, are you...all right?"

Tim laughed, that same hacking caw he had used on the roof. The air whistled through his nose as he tried not to lose control again.

"Abby, he's not all right," Gibbs said, forestalling another outburst.

"I'm sorry, Tim. Of course, you're not." She hesitated. "Can I give you a hug?"

"No, Abby," Tim said. "No. I...I need to...take a shower." He dropped the blanket on the floor and walked into the bathroom.

Abby bit her lip as the door closed.

"He's bad, Gibbs. I've never known Tim to say no to a hug before."

"Yeah, Abbs. That's what I told you already."

"What do I do, then?"

"Be patient. Wait."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pulled off the hospital gown and got into the shower. It was for people in wheelchairs, but he still used it. He stood under the spray and thought about how nice it was to be able to get clean...

...at least on the outside.

He felt his hands clench into fists. He wondered if he could ever forget that feeling of killing someone. He desperately wanted to make someone else pay for how he felt. He had all this anger churning inside him and no way to let it out...because the only way he could think of would undoubtably result in someone else dying...because that's what he did. He killed people.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He crept slowly forward, ignoring the wet of the automatic sprinklers. Nothing else mattered but this one thing...

Revenge. Justice. Payback.

The door opened at his touch. He was so complacent that he felt safe in his own home. Others had felt that way. He himself had felt that way before being taken from his home and forced into a nightmare that had no end.

What he was doing wasn't about ending the nightmare. It was about giving it to someone who deserved it.

"Who's there?"

He smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Gibbs, he's been in there a long time. Shouldn't we...I don't know, check on him?"

Gibbs looked toward the closed bathroom door and then back at Abby. Before he could answer, they heard a pounding on the wall and a cry seeming to express anger and grief. Rather than waste time saying anything, he gave Abby a look and then headed for the door. It was locked, but that had never stopped him before. He broke the door open. Tim could be seen, crouched down on the ground, pounding the end of his fist on the wall.

"Abby."

Abby, for a wonder, said nothing but ran back to the room and grabbed the blanket she'd used before. Gibbs reached in and turned off the water. Tim immediately started shivering. Abby stepped past Gibbs and wrapped him in the blanket, not paying attention to the water on the floor, soaking the bottom half of it.

"Come on, Tim. Let's get up now." She pulled gently on him. "It's okay, Timmy. Things kind of suck right now, but let's just get up off the floor."

Tim curled his hands into tight fists and hit his forehead, closing his eye in an attempt to block out whatever it was he was seeing. Gibbs crouched down beside them and pulled Tim's wrists down.

"Stop it, McGee. Stop."

"The water can't clean out my brain," Tim said, his eye still closed. "My hands remember. _I_ remember. I want to get it out of me."

"You can't wash it away."

"I know."

Abby put her arms around him, gently, and Tim didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned against her and began to cry again.

"I'm a murderer, Abby. You're hugging a killer."

"No," Abby said. "I'm hugging my friend. "That's all. Nothing else matters."

"I hate them, Abby. I really hate them."

"I hate them, too, Tim...for what they did to you and..." She stopped abruptly and cast a worried glance at Gibbs.

Her worry was confirmed.

"And what?" Tim asked, tensing up and looking at her with his one eye.

"Nothing, Tim," she said quickly. "Nothing. Let's just–"

"What, Abby?" Tim pulled back. "What."

Abby looked fearfully at Gibbs.

"They killed Jethro, McGee," Gibbs said finally.

Tim's expression didn't really change...of course, half of it couldn't. He stared and got pale.

"Jethro...is...they killed him?"

Abby felt tears in her eyes and nodded. "He was shot. We found him in your apartment."

For a moment, Tim's mouth just moved without making any sound.

"He...He didn't come when I opened the door on Friday. It was...was so quiet...he..." He took a few trembling breaths. "Jethro was never quiet."

"No, he wasn't," Abby agreed and laughed sadly. "Ducky said that he went down fighting."

"Why did they have to kill him? Why? He..." He huddled in on himself. "The death toll just gets higher and higher on our side and they just stay safe. It's wrong."

"They're going to prison, McGee. They're not safe."

"They're not dead, are they?" Tim asked. "They're safer than the people they made me kill. Over and over. They're safer than that Marine, than the...the blackness, the shape... They're safer than I am."

Gibbs held out a hand. "Come on, Tim. Get up."

"Why can't you let me kill them, Boss?" Tim asked. "Look at what they've done!"

"Yes, I've seen what they've done, McGee...and if you killed them, it would only let them win."

"I'm already ruined. I'm already nothing...less than nothing. I'm a murderer, Boss. They made me kill people."

"Yeah, they _made_ you. It wasn't your choice." The hand was still there.

"I still chose. I could have said no. I could have let them kill me instead."

"No, Tim. That's not any better."

"It is for me," Tim declared. He wouldn't look at them. "I hate how I feel."

"Take the time to get over it." Gibbs gestured for Tim to take his hand.

Tim just shook his head. "No, Boss. No."

"Yes, Tim. It will take time, but you can."

He shook his head again. "I feel like a killer. I feel like I could go off and kill one of you at any moment. What if I do?"

"You wouldn't do that, Tim," Abby said.

"Really? And I'll bet you wouldn't think that I would kill someone by crushing their skull." His eye shifted into the distance. "Over and over...all that blood..."

"Tim!" Gibbs barked. "Look at me!"

The eye shifted up to Gibbs' face. "No, Boss."

"I know it doesn't seem possible right now, but it is. Trust me. It is."

"I...Boss...I..."

"Come on, Tim. Just get up."

The hand remained in place, offering help, support...perhaps something more than that.

Tim closed his eye and sighed.

"Gotta start somewhere."

Finally, hesitantly, the bruised and and swollen hand reached up. The knuckles were covered in butterfly bandages, closing the split skin. Gibbs grasped Tim's hand and helped him stand. Without making any kind of issue of it, Abby helped Tim get back into another hospital gown. Then, she and Gibbs led him to his bed.

He didn't say anything more...and they didn't try to make him. Abby seemed to have finally understood what Gibbs had meant and she was quietly encouraging. Tim lay down, his back to them. Abby sat down beside the bed.

"Tim, I'm just going to help you relax a little...okay?"

Tim didn't reply, and Abby reached out and tentatively touched his back. When there was no reaction, she began rubbing it in a gentle circular motion. Gibbs sat quietly beside her.

They were there until he fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The fist came down onto the table so hard that the table itself rattled. Fornell had had enough of these wealthy, privileged people who had been responsible for the deaths of so many...including one of his own. Granted, Shawn Orson had been fired from the FBI...but he had been trying to do the right thing in this case, and he had died for it. Then, there were the survivors. If anything, they were worse than the fatalities.

"You don't get it, Mr. Grayson. I have you for kidnapping, accessory to murder, assault, all on multiple counts. Do you understand what the means?" Fornell knew his voice was too loud, but he didn't much care. "You were apprehended at the scene of the crime! We have people who will swear to your involvement! You are going to prison for a very _long_ time, and I for one will advocate locking you up and throwing away the key! Your money, your high-priced lawyer sitting here next to you will mean _nothing_!"

"My client's alleged involvement is–"

"Alleged? You're going to have to do better than that!"

"I wasn't in charge!"

"He's baiting you, Dorian."

"I don't care! I'm not going to prison for all that crap when I wasn't the one making the decisions!"

The lawyer tried to salvage something. "What kind of a deal will he get if he cooperates?"

"What kind of a deal?" Fornell said. He looked at the window. "He wants a deal? Did you hear that, Sacks? We've got him on enough that he'll never see the light of day and he wants to make a deal." He laughed. "What in the world could you possibly have to tell me that would be worth a deal?"

"How about the people in charge? You didn't get them...at least, I didn't see them in the group when we were arrested."

Fornell had been doing his job for a long time. He didn't have to show any emotion he didn't want to show. So...even while he was shocked at the revelation, he didn't give any clue.

"You talk and I'll consider."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Fornell smiled. "Considering the fact that _you're_ the one with dozens of murders to your credit at the moment, I think I'm a bit more trustworthy than you are. I'm not facing any type of jail time. You are."

Grayson looked at his lawyer.

"He helps you, he gets something in return."

"He helps me, I'll _consider_ not recommending him for life without the possibility of parole. How about that?"

Grayson swallowed nervously. Fornell had thought he had pegged him as a weakling who would cave at the first sign of some hardship.

He was right.

"Okay."

"Talk."

Grayson took a breath and nodded. "I got involved about five years ago..."

He talked. Fornell listened...and became more and more sickened by every word Grayson spoke.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"_...and in other news, computer mogul Donald Morley has been found dead in his home in Connecticut. He appears to have been beaten to death and the current time of death is estimated at least a week ago. Details..."_

Tim turned off the television and he couldn't decide how he felt. Tony was coming to take him home from Bethesda. He had set up many sessions with the psychiatrist, and he was slated to go back to work for at least a little while. All of that had faded into the background when he had seen the face of one of those...people on the screen...and knew he was now dead. It gave him a feeling of fierce satisfaction to see it...and to know that he'd been beaten to death. Excellent...but at the same time, a part of him was horrified that he felt that way.

"Hey, Probie, you ready to–?" Tony's words broke off abruptly when he saw Tim's face. "McGee, what's up?"

Tim looked away from the screen. He could almost see with both eyes now...which was a good thing. The swelling was going down and he was almost able to open his eye enough to let light in. He didn't much care what he looked like (which wasn't good). He cared that he was healing.

"He's dead, Tony. Someone killed him." Tim decided to smile.

"Who?" Tony's voice sounded worried.

"One of _them_."

"How do you know?"

"On the news. Beaten to a pulp. Serves him right. I wish I had done it."

"Who is this?"

"Donald somebody. Killed. Murdered. He's dead. Beaten to death." Tim turned his face from the blank television screen. "I'm glad someone killed him."

"McGee...you know...you don't have to leave yet."

"What?"

"It's only been a week since you checked into Bethesda. You haven't been out of that...that place for very long. You could stay here a little longer."

"You afraid of me, Tony?"

"No, McGee! Absolutely not!"

Tim looked away. "Maybe you should be. Look at how many people I've killed. Lots more than you...and the ones I killed weren't even criminals."

"McGee, remember that...thing..." Tony stumbled. "...he had been dead for a long time. You didn't kill him. They stole the body from the morgue."

"People keep telling me that, but you know what? I didn't know that he was already dead. I didn't know that I hadn't killed him. I didn't know that it was the same corpse every time. I _thought_ I was killing a person...and I still did it. It really doesn't matter that he was already dead. I thought he was alive...and that I was killing him. Intent is what matters."

"No, McGee. The truth matters."

"The truth?" Tim asked, dropping his bag on the floor, unconsciously adopting a fighting stance. "The _truth_? The _truth_, Tony, is that I killed people! Okay? Do you got that? I don't care _what_ excuses you come up with to make it so that it's not true. It _is_ true! I'm a murderer. You might be able to come up with extenuating circumstances, things that explain why I did it...but I killed three people! I _thought_ I'd killed a whole lot more! That's the _truth_! It doesn't matter that I didn't really kill more than three. Isn't three enough? I killed a _Marine_! I looked in his eyes and I killed him. I killed a man who was out of his mind. I killed a man who was terrified of dying...and I killed a Marine. I did that. I..." The energy oozed out of him and he dropped his gaze to his bag on the floor. "...I did that."

"Yeah, I...I know, McGee. I do. I'm sorry." He shifted uncomfortably. "You ready to leave?"

"Yeah. Get me out of here."

"Okay. Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You seem a bit more withdrawn than usual, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy shrugged.

"Are you still bothered by that corpse we autopsied last week? Or rather are you still _not_ bothered?"

Jimmy smiled a little. "I just don't get why I would feel that way."

"Not every corpse has to excite feelings of despair in us, Mr. Palmer. In fact, it's better if they don't."

"Yeah...but, Dr. Mallard, everyone was bothered by the fact that McGee could have been the one who killed him...but that didn't bother me either."

"Are you certain of that, Mr. Palmer?"

Jimmy squinted at his feet for a moment. "What else could it be, Doctor?"

"Perhaps, in an effort _not_ to address something that you found disturbing, you hid it even from yourself."

"I don't get disturbed by bodies, Dr. Mallard."

"Exactly."

"Exactly?"

"Yes. There's not a thing wrong with having a bit of distance, just be careful of cutting yourself off completely. That's _not_ healthy, not even in the medical profession."

Jimmy considered the advice and then, nodded...albeit a bit confusedly. "If you say so."

"I do. Now, shall we continue on our path of discovery and see what this young man has to tell us?"

Jimmy smiled and nodded again. "Yes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We have three foreign nationals whose governments are protesting their imprisonment, ten whose lawyers cost more than my entire annual salary, fifteen who are cooperating, although eight are first timers who had no idea what they were really involved in until it started. ...and one guy who is dead and has been implicated as one of the people who got away."

Fornell nodded glumly. The discovery of Donald Morley's body had been an unpleasant surprise...although none of the agents who had investigated had seemed all that broken up that he was dead. It was just that he was so easy to find. The question was now a matter of who had killed Morley. Of the survivors, only a few were physically capable of...well, maybe not. Fornell turned his attention to the files he had collected on the survivors. None of them would have been _expected_ to be able to do it, but they most definitely _had_ in the past.

Thinking of the survivors made his blood boil. All the ring leaders appeared to have got away and that made him angry. The instigators needed to be taken down; otherwise, they'd be able to do it again somewhere else. This group had been around for at least ten years and had, according to Grayson and others, been operating in many different countries. This was their first time back in the US in two years. Before, they had run their little fight club on the West coast.

"None of the people Grayson described have shown up except for Morley...and since he's dead, he can't exactly tell us who else we should be looking for."

"He can...maybe."

"How?"

"Take Glesen and go back over everything we have on Morley. I want to know every trip he took and if he had _any_ interactions with other people regularly."

"What about Interpol?"

"So far, they have nothing. Street fighting..."

Sacks snorted. "They're calling this _street fighting_?"

"What else can they call it? ...and it's just not a common problem around the world. Forced death matches run by well-connected people? That may happen in the movies, but I doubt it comes up a lot."

"They _are_ looking, right?"

"Of course...but there's nothing. We need to find the people who started it. Without them, we're just getting the little guys."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

One down. Six to go. He had stolen the list. He didn't have to worry about tracking them down. He could travel there.

He went over what had happened in his head and smiled. He had been weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. They thought they were masters. They weren't. They were the slaves.

He was now the master.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee, are you sure you're ready for this?" Tony asked.

"Ready for what, Tony? Ready to get back to my life? To stop being stuck in a prison cell? I think I'm ready for that."

"No, are you ready to face everything by yourself?"

Tim looked at his building. "Tony...there's no one who can face it with me; so whether I can or not is irrelevant. Thanks for the ride." He opened the car door.

"McGee, you can call...if you need anything. You know that, right?"

"I need lots of things, Tony...but you can't give them to me. No one can. It's impossible." He closed the door and walked away...up the stairs and to his apartment.

When he opened the door, he remembered with a stab of vivid memory what had happened when he had last walked in this door...and he wished that Tony had come up with him, not that Tony could really help. No one could. He nearly whimpered in fright, but then remembered that he wasn't going to let those people dictate his life. When the trials began, he would destroy them in the only way he had left to him...but it didn't feel like enough. It wasn't enough for them simply to go calmly to jail and live there in safety. _He_ hadn't been safe. They deserved to feel that.

He still felt they deserved to die. It didn't matter what his shrink told him about that. It didn't matter that he _knew_ the law had to be followed. They didn't deserve the law. They deserved to face the kind of justice they had meted out to Tim and all the others. If they weren't strong enough, they deserved to die for it.

"McGee?"

A hand on his shoulder, he whipped around, ready to strike his attacker, pulling back only at the last minute when he saw it was Tony.

"You all right, man?"

Tim turned back to the doorway. He hadn't stepped inside.

"No, Tony. I'm not okay."

"You need any help?"

"None that you can give."

"You need any help stepping inside?"

At any other time, Tim knew, this would have been a sarcastic comment...and it was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Tony was being totally serious.

"No." He was determined not to be taken over by this. He wouldn't let it ruin everything. He took a step...and another. It was strange how empty the place felt without Jethro there...just knowing the German shepherd would _never_ be there again. It touched the part of him that he wanted to ignore. He hadn't had Jethro for very long, after all...and the relationship had certainly not started on the right foot. He shouldn't feel bad about it. Jethro was dead. That didn't matter. It didn't matter that his dog had been killed defending Tim's home. It didn't matter.

"You sure you're ready to stay here, McGee?"

"Yes. You can go, Tony. Thank you for the ride. Ziva said she'd pick me up tomorrow morning for work. You can go." He didn't turn around.

"You sure?"

"Tony, I said you can _go_!" Tim said loudly.

"Okay, okay. See you tomorrow, Probie."

"Yeah. Bye."

The door closed quietly behind him and Tim stood motionless in the empty apartment...and no matter how often he'd felt it was too crowded...now it felt like a cavern. He was surprised that it didn't echo. Slowly, he walked forward to his bedroom, stopping briefly at the place where Jethro had been killed. There was a still a faint stain there. Then, he walked further in, set his bag gently on the floor and stared at the dog bed on the floor. He didn't need that anymore. He didn't need the big bag of dog food sitting on the floor in his kitchen. He didn't the leash...or the drool-covered balls...or...anything dealing with a dog. He didn't need them because his dog was dead.

The thought drove him out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out his box of big black garbage bags. Then, he began to systematically remove all indications that there had ever been a dog in the apartment.

He ran into problems with the dog bed...so he got a knife and cut it into pieces, pouring out the filling into one bag and then forcing the fabric in afterward. The dog food went in. The leash, the balls, the other toys. Everything. It took three garbage bags, but he didn't care. He filled them up and dragged them out of his apartment, down the stairs and out to the big bins. Then, he went back inside and hid the pictures he had of him and Jethro. He got rid of his phone picture. He didn't want to remember that he had a dog. The dog didn't matter.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I don't care."

...but he only fell asleep when he grabbed one of his pillows, held it tightly...and lay on the floor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"...I've found them, Boss. They're east of Arlington..."

_He had found them. They had hidden together. Two against one. It was almost unfair..._

"Please, Boss. I'm ready to go with you."

_Breaking in was so easy. It was almost unfair..._

"I'm approved for field work. I can come. I'm okay!"

_It took so little time to kill them both that he almost laughed. ...actually, he did laugh._

He was ready to get them. To take them down. Give them what they deserved. Yes. Finally.

_He looked at the bodies and he laughed. Then, he walked out, not caring if he was seen. He was ready to find the next one on the list._

Tim watched out the window as they pulled up to the construction site. He didn't feel afraid. He didn't feel worried. He was eager. He was ready.

Gibbs got out and gave him a glance. Tim chanced a smile. His eye was almost completely open now and so he was seeing out of two. His face was still quite ugly, but it didn't matter because he was physically able to work again. That's all that mattered.

Gibbs looked worried, though. Tim wasn't sure why. He wouldn't let him down. He knew he wouldn't do that. He had driven himself as hard as he could to get back to full form. His shrink had signed off on letting him back to work, although she said it was to be a probationary status, testing the waters. Tim was ready to dive in.

"McGee, you're with me. Tony, you take the back. Ziva, side doors."

"I can go back, Boss," Tim offered.

"I said with me, McGee!"

"Yes, Boss."

Tim walked next to him to the front door and felt an undercurrent of resentment that they were giving these guys the chance to surrender. Sure, Tony and Ziva were there in case they didn't...but it wasn't good enough.

Gibbs knocked.

"Jeremy Lyons! Federal agents!"

There was no reply. He pounded again and there was still no answer. Gibbs nodded to Tim who opened the door while Gibbs aimed. The house seemed empty. Together, the crept down the hall, checking each open door.

Tim took a step and seemed to sense the movement before he saw it. A bat was descending toward his outstretched arm. He reacted...but not as he'd been trained...at least not as NCIS had trained him. He dropped his gun and ran at the man, ducking beneath the bat, taking him completely by surprise. NCIS agents didn't tackle the people they were out to arrest.

"McGee, stand down!"

Tim didn't even hear Gibbs through the roar in his brain. It was just like them. ...and he would _not_ let them hurt him again.

He threw his arms around the man's waist and dragged him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as they slammed onto the hardwood floor. Then, Tim began trying to punch him, trying to... what was it he was supposed to be doing? It wasn't this...was it?

Suddenly, other hands were around his wrists, dragging him off their suspect, pulling him away. He was angry. How dare someone try and rig the fight? How could he win if they weren't–?

"McGee, you stop fighting me or, I swear, I'll punch you right in the face!"

That...that was Tony's voice. Tim stopped struggling in complete surprise. What had just happened there? Where had Tony come from?

Ziva was there, cuffing Jeremy Lyons. Gibbs was standing with his gun out, backing her up. Tony was...

_...holding onto me. Holding me back. I was..._

Tim pulled away from Tony, but not to fight. Instead, he wanted to get away...not _to_ anyplace, just _away_.

"McGee, you stay right there."

Tim froze in place at the command. Gibbs gave him the kind of look that said there was trouble in his immediate future and then gestured for Tony to escort Ziva and their prisoner out.

"What were you doing, McGee?" Gibbs asked in a voice that was carefully neutral.

"He was going to hit me, Boss."

"What were _you_ doing, McGee?" he asked again.

"I was defending myself."

"Defending yourself."

"He attacked. I fought back. He..."

Gibbs strode across the room and got in Tim's face. Tim backed away...to the wall.

"When we get back to NCIS, you are to go down to the gym. Nowhere else. The gym, got that?"

"The gym?"

"The gym. You will wait for me there and you will _not_ go anywhere else. Understand?"

"No. Why–?"

"The _gym_, McGee!" Gibbs shouted. Then, he turned around and walked out.

For a moment, Tim felt humiliated, ashamed, embarrassed, but then, he began to get angry. What was he supposed to have done? Let the guy hit him? Why shouldn't he have fought back? Why not? What right did Gibbs have to get mad at him for giving that guy what he deserved?

"McGee!"

Tim swallowed and walked out of the house.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He headed south. The next stop was in New Jersey. He was happy about this one. It was, he thought, the location of the one who had been in charge at the beginning. He was fairly certain, although not positive.

...not that it mattered. It was one of them...and they would be punished.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"The gym, McGee," Gibbs growled when they stepped off the elevator.

Tim did an about face and walked away. He said nothing, but he was still angry. It was obvious in every movement he made.

"Hey, Boss...what's going on?"

"We're going to have a chat," Gibbs said. "You and Ziva process Mr. Lyons and get the evidence down to Abby. I'll be back in a while."

"Where are you going, Gibbs?"

"To..._talk_...to McGee." He walked away.

"I do not think they are going to talk, Tony."

"If we work fast, we can watch," Tony returned.

Ziva gave a small smile but she was more worried than excited. So was Tony, really, but that didn't matter. They worked at a speed just shy of breaking the sound barrier and then headed down to the gym, not telling anyone else what was going to happen. This was iffy enough as it was. It didn't need more witnesses.

Gibbs and Tim were standing in the ring, dressed in gym clothes.

Staying just out of sight, Tony looked at Ziva uneasily.

"What are they doing?"

"It looks as though they are going to fight. Quiet. I cannot hear." She leaned forward.

"–and you could have _killed_ him!"

Tim shouted back. "He deserved it! He was trying to kill _me_!"

"Is that what you would have said had you killed him and then gone to trial for murder, McGee? That he would have killed you and he deserved it?"

"They deserve it! They're trying to hurt me again and I won't _let_ them!"

Gibbs and Tim were squared off. Tim was agitated, obviously ready to explode. Gibbs, while angry, was completely in control. He was egging Tim on. Tony and Ziva could see that he was _trying_ to get Tim to attack him.

"What are you going to do, McGee? You gonna fight everyone who crosses you? You gonna become the killer you think you are?"

"I'm already a _killer_, Gibbs!" Tim shouted back. "You just don't want to admit it! No one wants to say it! No one wants it to be true, but it is! You can't change what I did! You think that putting me in this ring will make me weak again? It won't! You think that I'm going to go back to how I was? I can't!"

"Then, fight _me_, McGee," Gibbs said. "You and me. No holds barred. You fight."

Tim laughed. It was cold and strident.

"You think that you can win, don't you." He was no longer shouting. "You think that because I'm the weak one of the team that you have no worries? Don't challenge me. You'll lose."

Tim's voice was not now angry. It was afraid...and utterly sincere. Tim wasn't showing some sort of bravado.

"He really thinks he'll win, doesn't he."

"He thinks that he will kill Gibbs, Tony. This is foolish. We should–"

"Oh, no, David. Gibbs has a reason for this. If you value your life, then you'll let it happen."

"And if this leads to one of them getting seriously injured or killed?"

"Then, that's why we're here. We can stop it before then...but I don't think we'll need to."

"You do not sound confident."

"I'm not." Tony wasn't. He wasn't confident at all. This scared him...but he wasn't going to start second-guessing Gibbs now.

"I'm not challenging you. Fight me, McGee. I don't think you're a killer when people aren't forcing you to be. I'm willing to take that chance."

"Don't do this, Boss. I don't want to kill you."

"Then, don't...but you had better be ready to defend yourself."

With that, Gibbs swung...and he didn't hold back...at least, it didn't _seem_ like he held back. He hit Tim in the stomach, making him double over...but while that might have been the end of it at one time, this time it wasn't. Tim coughed and gagged for a moment, but then, he looked up and his face had changed. He wasn't Tim anymore. He was that unthinking machine who fought because it saw no other option, no other way to stop the pain. It was a frightening change. As scary as Tim's attitude had been in the last couple of weeks, this was much worse.

Tim ran forward and with his first swing, which connected with Gibbs' face, just above the jawline, they could see how Tim had won. He was not well-trained...but he was fighting with an energy that said he would keep fighting until he was dead.

...or until his opponent was dead...

Gibbs staggered back from the blow but recovered quickly and grabbed Tim in a headlock.

"Is this how you want to live your life, McGee? Is it? Fighting the world because you can't fight yourself?"

"This is the only place that _I'm_ in control," Tim spat and brought his elbow into Gibbs' gut, hard enough that Gibbs had to release Tim in reaction to the blow. "They beat me down everywhere else...here it's all about what _I_ want. Here, I can win."

Tim didn't back off but pressed his advantage, taking another swing at Gibbs' face. Gibbs staggered backward again...but again recovered. In a whirl of motion, the two met in the center of the ring and traded hits. Gibbs took quite a few to the face and elsewhere, but Tim didn't take a single hit to the still-healing side of his face. Gibbs never sent a single shot that direction.

"They're not fighting the same way," Tony said softly, sickened by watching...the event.

"McGee is fighting for his life...but the problem is that Gibbs is doing the same. He is fighting for McGee's life," Ziva answered. "He will lose...unless McGee is willing to stop."

Then, Gibbs tripped Tim up and Tim landed hard on his back, gasping for breath, Gibbs towered over him.

"Are you in control, McGee? _Are_ you? Or are they still calling the shots?"

Tim had looked dazed but in seconds, he was getting up...driving his head into Gibbs' solar plexus. Gibbs collapsed, the wind knocked out of him. Tim surged upward and then loomed over Gibbs, ready to deliver what would undoubtably be a killing blow. He had the ability, the power, the mindless drive to win...

Tony took a step toward the ring, knowing that, even if he shouted, he couldn't stop McGee from killing Gibbs. Ziva didn't move. She knew the same thing.

Tim raised his fist, ready to bring it down. He was bleeding from a cut on his lip. His knuckles were split and bleeding. His shirt was soaked with sweat. He was breathing loudly and quickly.

Gibbs struggled for breath.

"Who's in control, McGee?" he gasped. "If you kill me right now, will it be because _you_ want to or because _they_ would have been cheering you on?"

Tim didn't move. One knee was in the center of Gibbs' chest, holding him down. The fist was still in the air.

"You want to fight the world, McGee?" Gibbs asked, still struggling to get his lungs to function properly again. "You want to take us all out? You want to hold on to your grief and your anger until it destroys you and everyone around you? You want to die like Jethro did...ready to fight, but totally overwhelmed by someone who holds all the cards?"

Tim brought his fist down...

...to the mat just beside Gibbs' face. He punched the mat as hard as he could and then screamed.

"I don't care about Jethro! I don't care about any of them!"

He pushed off of Gibbs' chest and tried to walk away...but it was like there was a chain holding him in the ring, keeping him back. He couldn't leave an enemy behind him, still living.

Gibbs finally got his breath back and sat up, rubbing his chest.

"You do care...Tim. You care about the fact that Jethro was killed by those people just to make sure that they could get you more easily. You care that you killed three innocent people at the instigation of monsters. You care that you have no control in this ring, that _they_ do. You care that–"

Tim turned around. "I do _not_! They are _not_ in control! They will _not_ r-rule my life! I'm not a _slave_!" He was still screaming.

"You are as long as you deny it."

"No! You're wrong!" Tim ran at Gibbs again, moving faster...but less in control than he had been before. His swings were wild. This was not fighting. This was desperation, denying what he knew was true.

Gibbs moved with surprising speed and went around behind Tim, wrapping his arms around Tim's torso, pinning Tim's arms to his sides. Tim began to jerk backwards, trying to get free, trying to fight back.

"You have a choice, now, Tim. You can probably get away from me, probably you can last longer...because I'm not trying to kill you...like you're trying to kill me. I'm trying to get through to you. Do you really want to kill me, Tim? Do you want that? Do you want them to win? Do you want your life to be defined by what happens in a ring?"

Tim didn't answer. He jerked his head back and caught Gibbs in the face. Gibbs staggered, let Tim go, blood spurting from his nose. Tim whirled back around, forced Gibbs face down on the mat.

"I'm _not_...a s-s-slave to th-them!" Tim was crying.

"This is how you're going to prove it? By killing me?"

Tim pressed his knee into Gibbs' back.

"I told you not to start this!"

"You can end it at any time, Tim. You just have to stop."

Tim's breath came in great heaving gasps. Tears began to mix with the sweat on his face...salt and salt.

"I-I-I...I c-c-can't s-s-stop," he said, not giving up his advantage, not releasing Gibbs from his grip.

"Yes, you can, Tim. You just have to make the decision. To stop it." Gibbs suddenly rolled over and in seconds had Tim pinned the mat. Tim began fighting wildly against his arms, his hands.

"Tim! You don't have to fight!" Gibbs shouted.

Tim struggled to get away. "Let me go!"

"Listen to me!" he roared. "You can decide what you want! You can be angry! You can be afraid! You can hate them for what they did to you, to everyone else...to your dog!" His voice got softer. "You can even feel grief for the loss, for the changes. ...but no one is making you fight anymore, Tim. No one. You don't have to fight. You don't have to come in this ring and try and kill whoever is against you. You have that choice...but you won't if you don't acknowledge what's going on in your _head_."

Tim was still fighting his hands.

"You want them dead, Tim. I...understand that. I understand that kind of hatred, but if you don't address it, if you don't deal with it...if you don't let it go...it's going to ruin your life."

Tim got one arm free and tried to hit Gibbs again.

"What do you want, Tim?"

Tim looked up at him, the tears still warring with the fury.

"I want to be dead!" he finally screamed out. "Why can't you just end it?"

Gibbs didn't act surprised or shocked...although the unseen observers were.

"Because I don't want to kill you, Tim...and I won't do it. I don't care how many times you hit me. I don't care how long we're in this ring. I won't do it. I won't kill you. I don't care if it has to be a choice between my life and yours. I'll die in here if that's what it takes." He paused and released Tim and stood back, allowing Tim the chance to attack once more. "Is that what it will take?"

There was a movement from the huddled mass on the mat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Finally, Tim stopped fighting. He went limp in the center of the ring and curled into a ball, cradling one hand and sobbing. Gibbs knelt beside him.

"I-I-I k-k-killed them, Boss," he wept. "I looked in their eyes...and I k-k-killed them. They died...because of me. Th-they killed my dog."

"I know."

"I want to lose. Why can't you let me lose?"

"Because that is not an option, Tim. You will either win by killing me or you'll stop. There's no other choice. Which is it?"

"Please, Boss...I want to lose."

"No."

Tim curled into a tighter ball, still holding the hand he had smashed into the mat. Gibbs sighed and picked Tim up, holding him gently.

"I get it, Tim. I do. I understand."

Tim sobbed and Gibbs began rocking him back and forth like he would a child. The two of them on the ground in the center of the mat, both bleeding, both beaten...both tired.

"D-D-Don't let them h-hurt me anymore."

"I won't."

"I hate them."

"I know."

"I never lost."

"I know." Gibbs looked up and saw Tony and Ziva who managed to look sheepish at their discovery. He jerked his head and mouthed _Ducky_ to them.

Ziva nodded and walked out.

"Are you going to win or are you going to stop, Tim?"

"I w-w-want to stop...but I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"It's not fair!"

"No, it's not."

Tim went quiet, his breath shaky, face tear-stained and bloody...but not all the blood was his. Gibbs kept hold of him, letting him gradually calm down.

Finally, when Tim had stopped shaking, he stopped rocking.

"You ready to leave the ring, Tim?"

Tim nodded.

"Do it." He let Tim go.

Tim didn't move.

"Go on, Tim. You can leave."

Slowly, fearfully, Tim got up and tottered toward the ropes. He hesitated and looked back. Gibbs could see him tensing up, ready to...

"You can leave, Tim. You don't have to fight."

He nodded slowly and then climbed through the ropes, stepped down...and sank to a boneless heap on the floor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Gibbs and McGee need you in the gym," Ziva said.

Ducky looked at Jimmy and then sighed. "He did it, did he? I told him it was too risky."

"You _knew_?"

"Jethro asked my opinion on it, and I told him it was too big a risk to take with Timothy so recently back to work...which I think he should not have been. How bad?"

"Not as bad as it could be but, but they are both injured."

"Mr. Palmer, if you could please assist me?"

"With what, Doctor?"

"With repairing the damage of Jethro and Timothy beating each other to a bloody pulp."

"What?"

"Please, Mr. Palmer? My bag, if you would be so good."

Jimmy gulped and nodded, running to Ducky's office.

"Of all the ways to try and get Timothy to respond..." he said with a degree of irritation.

"I thought McGee was going to kill Gibbs."

"It was a distinct possibility...as Jethro knew in the beginning. Nevertheless, I am relieved that it did not end that way. Shall we?" He gestured and Ziva followed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they arrived at the gym, Gibbs was leaning tiredly against the ropes, Tim was in a heap on the floor and Tony was standing uselessly between them, clearly unsure of which one he should be helping.

"Check on McGee," Gibbs said, gesturing to the huddled figure. Ducky glanced at Gibbs once and nodded.

Decision-making taken care of by the arrival of others, Tony walked to Gibbs. As Ducky and Jimmy bent down over Tim, he spoke softly.

"You okay, Boss?"

"More or less."

"That was pretty good, you know...letting McGee get the upper hand like that."

"I didn't let him," Gibbs said. "I didn't have to let him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that McGee could have killed me, Tony. If he had really wanted to do it, he could have killed me. I wasn't pretending. I wasn't _letting_ him do anything. I couldn't have stopped him." He shook his head. "Tim wanted to _lose_. He wanted to have the responsibility taken away from him. If he'd wanted to win, I'd be dead right now."

"Did you know that–?"

"That Tim would try to kill me? Yeah, I figured...but I didn't know how close he'd get to doing it. He was right. I thought I could beat him. I was wrong." For just a moment, Gibbs clenched his teeth. Tony wasn't sure if he was holding back anger or...something else...or emotions that it was nearly blasphemous to suggest that Gibbs actually possessed. "What they did to him...it made him into something else...someone who would do anything to win, someone strong enough to fight even at death's door. Tim was...someone else when he fought. ...and he almost had me." His smile was more a grimace. "I'm lucky he was trying to lose."

Tony swallowed and looked back at Ducky and his entourage. Jimmy looked almost frightened and Ziva was simply concerned. Tim was mostly non-responsive.

"Let me see your hand, Timothy," Ducky said gently.

Tim extended his hand.

"Don't hurt..." he mumbled.

"I will endeavor to avoid that, Timothy, but it may hurt a little."

Tim lifted his head.

"Maybe...y-y-you should have...someone hold...hold onto me...th-then."

Ducky looked in his eyes and saw the danger lurking there. He nodded.

"Tony, would you be so good as to grab a hold of Timothy, please?"

Tony looked at Gibbs before kneeling down.

"You ready, McGee?" he asked.

Tim tensed up but he nodded. Reluctantly, Tony wrapped his arms around Tim's torso, pinning one arm to the side and ready to tighten his grip if Tim lost control...again.

"Very well. Here we go."

Ducky took Tim's hand in a gentle grasp. It was bloody and swollen. He had a light touch, but Tim inhaled quickly and closed his eyes.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I'm okay," he whispered over and over again, although his arms were flexing, forcing Tony to redouble his grip.

"Just a bit more, Timothy."

"No...more," he whispered and pulled against Tony's arms.

"It's all right, McGee," Tony said. "It's all right. This is _Ducky_. The man talks to corpses! He wouldn't hurt you if it wasn't totally necessary. Remember?"

Tim's eyes closed as tears began to fall down his cheeks again. He was obviously trying to hold it in, but he was losing the battle.

"Yes, I think you have a boxer's fracture, Timothy...but it may be worse. You'll have to go to the hospital and have it checked out and repaired. In fact, a full examination would be a good idea."

Tony didn't let Tim go until his body had relaxed enough that it seemed he wasn't going to hit Ducky for hurting him.

"I never could make it to the wall," Tim whispered, staring at his hand. "Never."

"You don't have to, Timothy."

"They made me run...and the lights would go out...and they'd beat me for not doing it...and I tried and tried and tried to make it...and I never did...but I tried...and they'd kick me...and hit me...and...and they had tasers...and I tried to make it to the wall...but I couldn't...because the lights always went out." He dropped his head. "They never went out in the ring...but in that room...the lights always went out...always...until it was time to kill."

Tim had never spoken of his experience explicitly. They knew from the evidence collected more or less what had happened, but they hadn't known details. They hadn't known the connections between the room where he'd been tortured and the room where he had fought...and killed.

"...then, I started making it. I didn't want to...but I did...and if I didn't kill him, they hurt me...again and again. When they were ready for me to stop, they hurt me. When I wasn't fast enough, they hurt me. No matter what I did, they hurt me...except when I was fighting. Then, they left me alone...and let me kill. If I didn't kill, the person I fought would hurt me." He flexed his hand and whimpered. "I don't want to hurt anymore. I'm tired of hurting."

"I cannot guarantee that, Timothy, but I can say that we will try to help you in any way we can."

Tony couldn't see Tim's face, but he had a hunch that Tim wasn't really listening.

"Now, Mr. Palmer, why don't you and Tony take Timothy to the hospital for an x ray and a splint while I attend to Jethro, here."

"Jethro's dead," Tim whispered. "They killed him."

Jimmy looked rather nervous but he nodded.

"McGee? You ready to go?"

Tim blinked and looked at Jimmy, seeming surprised to see him.

"Go?"

"Yeah...to the hospital...to fix your hand."

Tim looked down at his hand.

"That's...probably a good idea."

Tony helped Tim stand...but was careful to avoid causing Tim pain.

"We can take my car," Jimmy offered.

"Lead on, Palmer. Let's go, McGee."

Tim walked to the door but then stopped and looked back at Gibbs.

"I didn't want to fight, Boss."

"I know you didn't, McGee."

He nodded once and walked out.

After he left, Ducky turned to Gibbs, a look in his eye that said a lecture was forthcoming.

"Ziva, how's Lyons doing?" Gibbs asked.

"I will...go and check on him. Would you like me to conduct the interview?"

"Can you do it without killing him?"

"Yes."

"Then, do it."

She nodded. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah."

The look on her face said she did not believe him in the slightest but she left anyway.

Ducky said nothing at first. He helped Gibbs from the edge of the ring to one of the benches and began checking him out...all in perfect silence, not even a grumble to indicate his mood...not that he needed to. Gibbs knew he was annoyed, even angry. It had been a dangerous gamble, that little battle in the ring. One worth doing, Gibbs felt, but dangerous nonetheless.

Still, Ducky said nothing as he poked and prodded, making clear to Gibbs in the universal language of pain, just _where_ Tim had hit him.

...and Tim had hit unexpectedly hard, Gibbs had to admit. It had taken him totally by surprise when that first fist had connected with his face. It had been said that fear and anger could make a person hit harder, the fist driven toward its target by more than mere muscles, but he had almost felt as though Tim's fist had made a hole clear through his head. Keeping on his feet, physically and mentally, had almost taken more than he had.

"Okay, Ducky. Let me have it. I know you're nearly chewing your tongue off _not_ saying it."

Ducky sighed and stood back.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you and Timothy _both_ were?"

"Yeah, I think I have an inkling, Duck."

"Do you know what could have happened?"

"Yeah, I could have lost...or won."

"Yes, and if that had happened, if Timothy had indeed won, what would that have done to him?" Ducky asked. "He would have not only those three unknown men on his conscience, but you, his boss, as well. It would have destroyed him!"

Gibbs nodded and then winced as Ducky continued his ministrations. He'd be aching for days after this. He was lucky no bones had been broken.

"This would have destroyed him, too, Ducky. It's just a matter of whether he was destroyed in body or mind first."

"And if this gamble had required your life...or his?"

"It would never have required his."

Ducky finally relented. "No, I suppose it wouldn't have...but he has done a number on you, Jethro. Not even your second wife could have done worse."

"She cracked my head open," Gibbs said, smiling. "McGee only bruised me a bit."

"Considerably more than a bit, but you'll survive...to make more foolish decisions, I would wager."

"And McGee?"

"Beyond the broken hand, he will be fine...in body. For the life of me, I cannot understand why his psychiatrist allowed him to come back to active duty already. Timothy was tortured, for goodness sake! That kind of thing cannot be resolved in a matter of weeks...and obviously hasn't based on what happened today."

"We'll have to take him off the roster," Gibbs said in resignation. "I knew we would as soon as I got to the gym."

"Then, why go through with it?"

"Because _he_ didn't know it. I couldn't backtrack. He wouldn't have understood. ...he's..." Gibbs looked around to make sure the gym was empty. "He scared me, Duck. I was afraid in that ring. I really thought I wouldn't be able to stop him from killing me."

"I got the feeling that _you_ didn't stop him. He was able to stop himself."

"Yeah...and I think I'll be happy if I never have to see him like that again."

"I hope you don't. I don't know that either of you could survive another round."

Gibbs smiled. His right eye was blackening. He'd be looking worse for the wear for the next few days.

"We'll have to."

"Why?"

"Because at some point, we're going to have to spar again."

Ducky paused in the middle of putting his accouterments away.

"Why in the world would you put him through that again?"

"So that he knows that he can handle a fight...without it being fatal."

"Can he?"

"No. Not now. Later."

Ducky stood and gave Gibbs a hand standing.

"I'm going to recommend that you take the rest of the day _off_, Jethro."

"I have work to do."

"You should have thought of that before letting your agent beat you half to death. Go."

Gibbs laughed...and then winced.

"Yes, Doctor."

He limped away. Ducky shook his head in concern...and hoped that this would work out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

New Jersey wasn't far. He figured he could stop off on his way south and keep up the process.

It wouldn't take long.

Everything would work out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That's two more," Sacks said. "Grayson verified that Marie and Calvin Durrant were high-ranking members of the club."

"Husband and wife torturers, huh? That's a new one," Fornell growled.

"Sir, this can't be a coincidence."

"No, it can't. Someone is taking them out. I wish I could let them get on with it. They're certainly doing a better job of tracking them down than we are."

"Sir."

"No, I know. Check on the survivors. See where they were, what they were doing."

"Should we start with Agent McGee?"

Fornell looked up from his desk. "What?"

"Agent McGee. At NCIS. He has the ability...and his reaction to them has been one of hatred."

"McGee isn't the kind of guy who would do that. Don't you remember how he acted during the internal investigation?"

"This isn't the same guy. He won, sir. Three times according to his account." Sacks hesitated. "You saw the video."

Fornell nodded although he wished he hadn't.

"He could have beaten Morley...and this couple. They wouldn't have stood a chance against him. ...shouldn't we at least rule him out first?"

Fornell looked down at the file, the photos of the beaten bodies of the Durrants.

"Okay. Do it."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Cherie watched the news impassively as the familiar faces appeared. Someone was hunting them down. She smiled grimly.

_I always knew that Don didn't have the prowess to survive a real fight...too bad for him._

She spared the time to salute his memory...although she wondered if she was actually toasting to the man who had killed him. There was a poetic justice in his work. Beating them to death as he had been forced to do. She didn't know who it was, but she had no doubt that he would find her eventually. She could run, of course. If she chose to leave the country, he wouldn't be able to find her. She knew she'd be safe at any of her family's villas in Europe.

_But where's the challenge in that?_

Her smile didn't waver. She finished her drink and went back to her bedroom. Once there, she changed into her dark clothes. It looked as though a trip to the gym would be advisable.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jimmy sat awkwardly on a chair beside Tim's bed. There was a curtain which had been pulled between them and the room's other occupant. Tim wasn't saying anything. ...of course, he was only barely waking up from the general anesthesia they'd been forced to use in order to avoid having him lose control. The x rays had shown the boxer's fracture which Ducky had diagnosed. Thankfully, no other bones were broken. Tim's finger had required a couple of pins to stabilize the metacarpal and he'd be in a splint for a few weeks. The doctors had asked some awkward questions about how the injuries had come about...and Jimmy hadn't known how to answer them. He'd sat there with his mouth working but with no sounds coming out. Tony had glibly glossed over the fact that Tim and Gibbs had beaten each other up and went on with things.

...but then, Tony had been called back to work, leaving Jimmy behind to sit with someone he was a little afraid of at the moment. He remembered with too much clarity the damage done to that body. No, Tim hadn't killed him...but if that guy had been alive, he would have died several times over.

...and Jimmy was now understanding what Ducky had meant about why that body had disturbed him so much.

There was a soft exhalation from the bed and Jimmy looked over. Tim's eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling, clenching his fist. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Jimmy swallowed nervously. What if Tim lost it again?

"H-Hey, McGee," he said softly in an attempt to avoid startling Tim.

Tim's eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he exhaled again and moved them onto Jimmy's face.

"Hey," he said. "Done?"

"Yeah. All finished. Once you're really awake, you'll be released."

"Awake?" A crease appeared on Tim's forehead which then cleared. "I was afraid I'd kill someone else. I told them to knock me out."

Jimmy nodded mutely.

"You're scared of me, aren't you, Jimmy."

Jimmy shook his head...not saying anything.

Tim smiled a little and pushed himself up awkwardly, using only one hand both to move his body and steady himself against the dizziness. Jimmy found it impossible to move in order to help him.

One of the many fatal blows to that corpse had been due to repeated hits to the throat that had crushed the larynx.

"You are."

Jimmy paused and then nodded...just as mutely.

"I'm a time bomb. Of course, you'd be scared of me."

"You don't seem like that right now," Jimmy said...and was being completely honest. It wasn't Tim himself that was frightening. It was...

...the fact that another of the fatal injuries was a crushed sternum, shards of bone driven straight into the heart.

"Then, what is it that scares you?" Tim asked. "I would have assumed it was me now."

Jimmy wasn't sure if he should actually explain what frightened him. Would that lead to something more, something worse? He wasn't good with the psychological stuff. Put a body in front of him and he could put it together, but...but Tim's mental functioning? There was a reason he had chosen to work with an ME rather than a psychologist.

"What is it?"

"That...body."

Tim's eyes darkened and he looked away.

"I didn't think you got squeamish about those things...not like I...used...to."

"I don't."

Another injury. He could see it clear as day in his mind's eye. Face beaten until all the bones were broken, crushed...totally and utterly destroyed.

"I didn't think I ever would...and I tried to pretend I wasn't bothered by seeing it."

"Seeing what?"

"Seeing what you did," Jimmy finally admitted. "You're not supposed to be able to do things like that."

Tim looked down at his hand. "You're right. I'm not. I wish I could pretend I hadn't. I was...trying to."

"I couldn't really. ...and now, I remember it...because that's what I do. I remember the details."

Tim nodded. "I was so desperate for them not to hurt me that I couldn't stop the first time. I kept hitting him...until they tasered me...again."

"He was dead when you did that."

"Doesn't matter. Never will."

"No, I guess not."

"I squeezed his neck until I felt the bones snap."

Jimmy nodded. "I saw that."

"I broke his head open."

"That, too."

"Have you ever broken someone's ribs?"

"No...well, I did once when I was practicing opening a cadaver."

"It's not the same when you think the person is alive."

"No." Jimmy was listening with a macabre fascination. He didn't generally get the chance to talk to the people who had inflicted injuries on the bodies he autopsied.

"When you think they're alive, you can't help but imagine how it felt...how long they felt the pain...and you wonder... you wonder..."

"What?" Jimmy asked in a whisper.

"...how long will you have to suffer in Hell for what you did... Is there any way of gaining forgiveness for that. You wonder how he felt when he finally died. You wonder if he was relieved, if he was afraid." Tim closed his eyes. "You can see it, you know...how they feel...if you look in their eyes when they die. Their eyes are open, looking into yours...and you know...you know exactly how they feel...and you know that it's your fault...because even as you're watching them die...it's you that's killing them."

Jimmy couldn't think of a single thing to say. He just sat there.

"...but I didn't really think of all that at the time."

"What _were_ you thinking, then?"

Tim opened his eyes and looked straight at Jimmy.

"I was thinking...if I kill this guy fast enough...maybe they won't hurt me this time." He blinked a few times. "I didn't want to die, Jimmy."

"I don't blame you."

"...but now...now, I wish I had."

"Why?"

"Because I'm...I'm afraid of the same thing you are, Jimmy. I'm afraid of being the person who could do all that to another human being."

"Are you...going to..."

Tim paused, as if considering the idea. Then, he shook his head. "No...but not because I don't want to."

"Then, why?"

A single tear fell, even as he tried to smile. "I'm afraid it would hurt."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He decided to forego the beating this time. The knife worked as well...and it was almost a relief to be able to kill more quickly. Granted, there was a lot more blood...and he'd got quite a bit of it on himself, but that was less important than making sure he got out and moved on. He had to get to North Carolina next...and he wasn't the head person. He wasn't the one who had made the announcement at the beginning.

...but he remembered this man looking at him...and moving on, making a comment about him being weak.

He smiled. Weakness. He should have thought of his own weaknesses.

He stabbed the knife into the now-lifeless body one more time and left it there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat alone in his apartment. He had to get out of it. He couldn't live here, not now...maybe not ever.

"I should move."

He hadn't moved any of his pictures back out. He couldn't bear to look at them. Gibbs and Ducky had talked to his shrink and they decided he wasn't ready. Now, after nearly killing Gibbs, he had to acknowledge that there was something to that statement...but he didn't want to be sitting around doing nothing.

It gave him too much time to think. He walked to the kitchen and tried to think about making something to eat, although he wasn't hungry. His doctor said he needed to eat more...even if he didn't want to.

The only thing that really attracted him at the moment was the thought of something with a high enough alcohol content that it would burn his stomach lining. ...but even he knew that was a bad idea. It was a bad idea for lots of reasons. Foremost in _his _mind was the idea that he might lose control and kill someone else. He didn't want that. He really didn't want anyone else to die at his hands...except maybe the woman who had chosen him...and the people who had killed Jethro. He wanted to kill them and every time he thought about it, he felt that hot anger in the pit of his stomach, the anger that fed on his memories and got worse and worse, giving him a need to let it out somehow but he couldn't figure out a good way to do it and so it got worse until...

Tim jumped at the knock on his door, looked down at his fist...only one. The other was still in the splint...and would be for weeks.

He was clawing himself. Not a good idea.

There was another knock.

"Agent McGee! Open up!"

Tim stopped in the middle of grabbing for a paper towel to dab at the blood on his hand. He recognized that voice.

"Agent McGee!"

Tim walked hesitantly to the door, looked through the peephole and verified that, yes, he was right about the voice. He turned the deadbolt and opened the door.

"Agent Sacks. What are you doing here?"

"I need you to come with me, Agent McGee."

Tim took a step back. He saw two other agents behind Sacks and didn't recognize them.

"Why? What's going on?"

"We just need to talk to you."

"About what? I already gave you a statement! Why?"

"Agent McGee, just stay calm. It's not a big deal."

"If not, then why do you have other people with you? Why can't you just talk to me here? What's this about?" Tim's anger at his lamentable situation was being turned onto Sacks and he was clutching the papertowel so tightly in his hand that he was on the verge of ripping through it.

"It's about the people who took you, Agent McGee and it needs to be official; so we need to talk about it at the office, not here."

Tim stood for a bit longer and Sacks lost patience.

"Look, Agent McGee, I'll arrest you if I have to, but I don't want to do that. Just come with us and it will be fine!"

Tim looked down at his hand. Sacks did the same and saw the blood staining the edges. Tim swallowed.

"Could you give me a chance to put on some...other clothes? ...and I'm supposed to be going to therapy this afternoon. Is this going to take a long time?" His voice was determinedly calm. He didn't want to lose control, even though he disliked Sacks on general principle.

"Go ahead, and you can call your shrink...and you might as well call NCIS as well because I'm sure they'll find out anyway."

Tim managed to dredge up a smile and then he walked to his bedroom and heard muttered voices behind him.

"He doesn't look so tough."

"Well, he did manage to kill a corpse."

"Shut up," Sacks snapped. "Hurry it up, McGee."

Tim changed quickly and put a bandaid over his hand. Then, he grabbed his phone and moved back out into the room.

"I'll call on the way over," he said and then, as they walked out the door, he stopped and looked at the two other agents. "And I could kill both of you with my bare hands, even if you both attacked me at once. I wouldn't advise you to try it, though...because I can't hold back once I start." Then, he walked past them and out of his building.

Sacks looked at them.

"Why did I pick you two idiots to come with me?"

He followed Tim out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"What?"

"_I think they're going to accuse me of killing people, Boss."_

"Why? Who?"

"_The ones I told you I was going to kill."_

Gibbs winced at the reminder.

"Where are you?"

"_At FBI Headquarters. They haven't arrested me, but Sacks did threaten to if I didn't go with them."_

"Where's Fornell?"

Tim didn't sound angry anymore. He sounded...resigned to whatever happened. Gibbs got the feeling that he didn't even care.

"_Don't know. Haven't seen him yet. I'm just sitting around...waiting."_

"What are they asking you?"

"_Nothing yet. ...you know, Boss, I don't care that these people are dead. Given the opportunity, I would kill them. It doesn't matter to me. I'm glad that someone else is doing it. I'd give them my gun."_

Gibbs heard a voice on the other end, but he couldn't understand the words.

"_Boss, it's time for me to go. I already called my shrink and told her that I might be late...especially if they decide to arrest me."_

"They won't arrest you, McGee."

"_They might...I have means and motive. I am a killer, after all."_

"No, you're not, McGee."

"_Bye, Boss."_

There was a click and Gibbs hung up his phone. He sat at his desk for a few seconds before standing up.

"Boss?"

"Let's go."

"Where?" Ziva asked.

"To the FBI."

"Why?"

"Because McGee just got taken there. They're going to ask him questions about whether or not he killed those people who escaped arrest."

"Probie? He wouldn't..."

Ziva shook her head. "No, he would...but he has not had a chance to."

"I guess that's what they want to find out."

Tony paused at the elevator. "At least it isn't the CIA."

_Thwack!_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Have a seat, Agent McGee."

Tim sat down. It was a small room, but there were lots of windows, curtains open and letting in light. He was uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't an interrogation room. That would have felt too much like a cell and he was pretty sure he would have lost it. Tim looked at Sacks who wouldn't do him the same courtesy. In fact, Sacks had said very little since leaving his apartment.

_Maybe I scared him. Good. The more people who are scared of me, the better. ...they won't let me cause any more harm._

Sacks didn't stay. He walked out of the room, leaving Tim alone.

_Who _is_ doing this? It's not me. I should be so lucky. So who could it be? Why do they think it's me? What are they going to ask me? Are they going to make me look at them again?_

Tim didn't want that. He didn't want to deal with that, with reminders he didn't need.

The door opened, admitting Fornell.

"Agent McGee."

"Agent Fornell."

"How are you feeling?"

Tim gave him a startled glance. "What?"

"How are you feeling?"

"At this moment or in general?"

"Either."

"At this moment, confused. In general, like a dangerous murderer. Any more questions you'd like ask?"

"Actually, yes. Quite a few."

"Okay."

Fornell must have heard something in his voice because he gave Tim another glance before getting started. He slid three photographs across the table.

"Do you recognize these people?"

Tim looked at them and felt that impotent rage begin to build.

"Yes."

"Who are they?"

He swallowed. "They...are...some of the people I saw at the...in that place."

"So you know them on sight?"

"YesdoIhavetokeeplookingatthem?" Tim asked without pausing or taking a breath.

"No." Fornell pulled the pictures away, hid them in a folder. It didn't really matter; Tim could see the images as if they were tattooed on his eyelids. "How do you feel about them?"

Tim laughed incredulously. "How do...how do I _feel_ about them? What kind of a _stupid_ question is that?"

"Well?"

"These...people are some of the...people who...who were responsible for me becoming a murderer! They tortured me! They tortured and killed others! How do you _think_ I feel about them? I know they're all dead and I am _glad_! I wish I could have done it myself! I wish I could have stood there and watched...them...die!" He breathed loudly and angrily.

Fornell was unmoved.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Watch them die?"

"Only in my best nightmares," Tim whispered. "I want them all dead, Fornell. Every one of them. Whoever is doing this...he's doing the world a favor!"

"You really think so?"

Tim stood up. "These are people who don't care about anything except... I...I don't even _know_ what they could possibly care about! It was game to them! Death was a game! Torture was a game! No, I didn't kill them. I only wish I had."

"Where were you when they were being killed?"

"Where was I? Oh, let me see." Tim's voice was thick with sarcasm and anger as he feigned deep thought. "Hmmm...they found the first one on the day I left Bethesda and I heard that the time of death was a week before that. I was in Lancaster, in the hospital wishing that _I _was dead. Then, the Durrants...I saw them on the news, too. Nicely done. That was the same day I beat Gibbs almost to death and broke my fifth metacarpal...which is why I have a splint right now. See? Would you like to see the stitches? ...or maybe you could ask Gibbs where he got the black eye that's only barely healing? ...or the bruises...or his nearly-broken nose? Or how about you call Abby and ask her about how I woke her up at two in the morning because I had a dream that I'd killed the entire team, that I'd beaten them all to death? Any more details you'd like me to relate, Agent Fornell?"

"Have a seat, Agent McGee."

Tim sat down heavily. He hadn't meant to mention the dream. He had been forced to call Abby because he couldn't remember whether or not he _had_ killed the team. He leaned forward to hide his face.

The door suddenly burst open and Gibbs was standing there, towering as only he could tower. He was taller than Fornell in any case, but he may as well have been ten feet tall with as much as he loomed.

"Fornell, what are you doing with my agent?"

"Asking him questions, Gibbs. Your eyesight can't be _that_ bad." Fornell gave Gibbs' face a thorough examination. "Although that shiner must be obscuring a bit of your view."

"Your questions are over."

"For now, they are. Agent McGee has been cooperative. We have some things to check out."

Tim sat at the table. He'd been listening but...that wasn't what he was thinking about. Whenever he had a moment to think, he remembered...and he remembered killing that Marine.

"Over and over," he whispered.

"What?" Fornell asked.

"You're done, Fornell."

"We're eliminating him as a suspect, Gibbs. You know how it works. There are only a few survivors, only a few likely suspects. We have to eliminate them one by one." Fornell was unapologetic.

Tim didn't know the name of the people he'd killed. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know who that Marine was, that brave soldier who wouldn't even have been able to have an open casket at his funeral because of what he, Tim, had done. He had survived serving his country to die at the hands of someone who should have been protecting him...at the instigation of people who cared only about the game.

"Survivors. We're not survivors. We're leftovers." Again, he was whispering.

"McGee, come on. You're done."

Tim stood up, but he looked at Fornell. "I want them dead. I didn't kill them, but if I found out who did, I wouldn't stop him. I wouldn't report him. I'd help him."

Then, he walked past Gibbs, past Tony and Ziva, and he didn't stop. He kept walking, pulling off the visitor's badge, almost automatically and returning it to the front desk. He didn't stop walking until he was out of the building and standing on the sidewalk, in the bright sunlight.

"McGee!"

Tim waited, but he didn't turn around. He was moderately gratified that he managed to accept the hand on his shoulder as something comforting...rather than a threat.

"Wait."

Tim stared out at the street.

"I wasn't lying, Boss. I meant every word."

"Why say it though?" Tony asked.

"Why try to pretend? If I woke up one morning and he was there and he told me what he was doing and did I want to come? I would. I would do it. I would go and I would kill them."

"And ruin your life, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"You all keep acting like there's something better, something good to look forward to. There's not."

"You need a ride anywhere, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I have to go to therapy."

"Any good?" Tony asked.

"Sure. I'm not dead yet, right? That's got to be a good thing. Everyone keeps telling me that it is. I haven't killed anyone else. That's pretty good. Heck, I managed to go without clocking Fornell and Sacks in the head for being idiots. I'm on the road to recovery."

"You're on the road...but which way are you going?"

"Clever, Tony. Very clever. Right now, I'm headed east. I have an appointment."

"We'll give you a ride."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Um, Dr. Mallard?"

"Whenever you beginning a sentence like that, Mr. Palmer, I feel tired," Ducky said, not looking up from his reports.

"Um..."

"Mr. Palmer, do get to the point."

"McGee wishes he was dead."

Ducky looked up. "Yes, I know. What gave you that idea?"

"You _know_?"

"Yes, I know. Now, why did you say that?"

"He...when we were at the hospital, he...he said that he wished he was dead now even though he didn't while they were making him fight...and I...asked him if..."

"If he still wanted to be dead?"

"Yeah...and he said that he wouldn't do it because he was afraid it would hurt."

"Well, it's a relief that _something_ is holding him back for now."

"Doctor..."

"Yes, Mr. Palmer?"

"Aren't you worried?"

Ducky put down his pen and turned around to face Jimmy directly.

"I am more than worried. I am terrified that one day I will find that Timothy has overcome that singular obstacle and decided that death is preferable...or worse, that he will give up on trying to rejoin the world and embrace what his torturers wanted for him."

"What's that?"

"A fight to the death."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, you're not listening to me."

"You're not saying anything worth hearing."

"How do you know if you won't listen?"

Tim whirled around, angry. "Look, I'm a killer. How in the world do you think that sitting here talking about it is going to make me _ever_ feel any better about the fact that I've killed three people? How do you expect me to forget that..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Tim."

Tim sat down and stared at his hands. "How do you expect me to forget how it felt to kill them?"

"I don't expect that of you, Tim. The only one who seems to expect that is you."

"I know I can't."

"But you think you should."

"What is the _point_ of all this?" Tim shouted. "Why do I have to keep coming back here and hearing you say the same things over and over again? I'm still a killer no matter what. It doesn't matter what I do, what I say, what happens. That will never change."

"No, Tim. You're wrong."

"What?"

"You're wrong. You have killed people. That is true. And you're right. That will never change. ...but you're not a killer."

Tim made a rude noise. "That's semantics."

"No, it's the truth. People die. People are killed. In wars, soldiers sometimes kill people who don't deserve to die, people who fought back...people who weren't evil or bad or wrong...they were just on the other side. Are the soldiers killers?"

"I'm not a soldier. This isn't a war."

"Yes, it is, Tim. This is a war. You were forced into battle...and you're still fighting now, only you're fighting yourself instead of another person."

"It doesn't make any difference."

"One of the people you killed, Tim...he was a Marine."

Tim turned away from her and walked over to the book case. Why did shrinks have so many books on the shelves? Did they really read them? Unlikely.

"Yes, I know."

"He was..."

"I don't want to know anything about him!" Tim said loudly, turning back to her.

"All right. He was a Marine. You already know that. He was in battle. He fought. He killed. Does that mean _he_ was a killer?"

"He won, too."

"That's not what I mean, Tim, and you know it. When he fought in Afghanistan, was he a killer?"

"No. He wasn't...but I'm not him."

"No, but you're not a killer either. That's a choice you still have to make."

"This is stupid."

"No, it's true." She leaned forward. "You can't change what happened back there. You can't. I know you wish you could, but you can't. You can't bring back the lives you took. You can't change the past so that you were never taken. You can't save your dog."

"Don't talk about that."

"You _can_ move on, Tim. You can live your life in the way you want to, _now_. Don't let your past actions dictate your future life."

Tim turned away again and used sarcasm to cover his tears. "Did you get that from Oprah or something?"

"No, but if she did say it, she's a smart lady...because it's true."

Tim said nothing.

"You're not a killer, Tim. You're not...but you_ could_ become one. It's a choice you have to make. Are you going to embrace the fight that's still in you? Are you going to give in to the part of you that wants to fight to make the pain go away? Or are you going to fight against that impulse and try to get your life back? Will it be hard? Absolutely. Will it take a long time? Most likely. Is it worth it? That's something only you can decide. I'm here to help you, and I will keep trying to do that...but I can't help if you don't want it. If all you want is to become the killer you think you are, I can't help you. ...but you're not killer, Tim. Not yet."

"Time's up," Tim whispered.

"All right. I'll let you go with one more question. You're not a killer. Do you want to be one?"

Tim didn't answer. He just walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim isolated himself. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to _be_. He didn't want to do anything. He wanted to...

His phone rang. He debated answering it, but it wasn't anyone from NCIS. He connected.

"Timothy McGee."

He listened.

He said nothing.

He hung up.

He walked out.

...turning out the lights as he left.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

It was late, almost midnight. Gibbs' phone rang.

"Gibbs. This had better be important."

"_Good-bye, Boss."_

"McGee?"

There was a click.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim drove. He had heard the name, been given the offer. He was taking the chance. He didn't care about anything else.

...except that there was a small voice in his head saying that he didn't want to do this, that it was a mistake, that he really was ruining his own life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was now wide awake. He tried calling Tim back but he wouldn't answer. His phone was on, but he wasn't answering it.

He dialed another number.

"Abby, I need you to get to NCIS as fast as you can."

"_What? Why, Gibbs?"_ Abby sounded sleepy.

"Now, Abby! Not in twenty minutes! Go!"

"_Why?"_

"I need you to trace Tim's cell phone and tell me where he is."

"_Gibbs–"_

"No, I don't have time to answer more questions. Go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim wasn't sure why he kept his phone on. It kept ringing, but he wasn't going to answer it. Still, it was almost nice to know that they still cared...even now when he was heading off to end it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Where is he, Abby?" Gibbs ordered.

"Just give me a second, Gibbs!"

Tony walked into the lab, yawning widely. "What's going on? What's the case?"

"McGee."

"What?"

"He called me and said good-bye. I want to know where he is."

"Are you sure he's not just at his apartment?"

"Ziva's checking that on her way in."

"Okay, his phone is still on. That'll make tracing it a lot easier."

Gibbs' phone rang.

"What is it, Ziva?"

"_He is not here, Gibbs. ...but did you know that he has removed all of Jethro's things from his apartment? There are not even any pictures. ...and his gun is missing but his badge is here."_

Gibbs felt his gut start to churn, but he answered calmly. "Right. Get here as quick as you can. As soon as Abby has the trace, we're going after him."

"_I will be there in five minutes."_

Gibbs hung up.

"You've got five minutes, Abby."

"I won't need that long."

"So...what did he say, Boss?"

"He said good-bye, DiNozzo."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Got him!"

"Where is he?"

Abby pointed to the screen. "He's heading south on I-81, about twenty miles from the interchange with 581."

"Keep us updated, Abby."

"Gibbs!"

Gibbs paused. "You can't come, Abbs. You keep on him. Call him every so often, see if he'll answer."

"Don't let him get hurt, Gibbs."

"That's my plan."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Bad news."

Fornell sighed. It was much too late for this. "Another body?"

"Yep. New Jersey. Name of Carlton Sorenson. Stabbed forty times."

"Stabbed? Not beaten?"

"Nope...and we got fingerprints."

"Belonging to?"

"Still being processed."

"And?"

"And we think we've tracked down another one of the ringleaders."

"Who?"

"Cherie Montaine, heiress to a small fortune. One of her family's many houses is in North Carolina."

"North Carolina?"

"Yeah, north of a town called Stoneville."

"She actually there?"

"Credit card receipts put her there yesterday."

Fornell nodded. "Okay...let's get down there. Maybe we can beat the guy there."

"You want to tell NCIS?"

"No. I think we'll wait until we've got her."

"Yes, sir. What about Sorenson?"

"Send another team to take care of it. He's dead. He's not going anywhere. Once the fingerprints are processed have them send them to us. Otherwise, let's just get there. I'll bet we're still behind."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a little diner off the interstate. Tim pulled off and walked inside, looking around. It was two in the morning and the diner was almost empty...except for a man sitting in one booth. He was frightening to look at...maybe not at first glance but his eyes showed someone who was dangerous, mostly unhinged. A killer. He met Tim's gaze and gestured. Feeling that he didn't have much of an option, he went and sat down. After all, this was the man who had called him. That much was obvious.

"Who are you?" Tim asked.

"I'm the same as you. I'm one of the leftovers."

A waitress came over...reluctantly.

"Can I get you anything, hun?"

Tim looked up at her. He wasn't feeling all that inspired by the decor.

"Just coffee, please. Black."

"Coming right up."

"Thank you."

She walked away.

"How do you know me?"

"I have a list. Shawn gave it to me to make sure that something got out if he was killed. ...which he was."

The waitress returned with the coffee.

"Anything else?"

Tim smiled and shook his head. "No. Thanks, though." He took a sip. It was nasty, but it was coffee and that was all that mattered.

"Why didn't you–?"

"What? Report it?" the man sneered. "I tried that. They didn't believe me. They weren't even going to investigate. That kind of delay is unacceptable."

"The FBI would have."

"The FBI has to follow the law. I don't."

"You don't?"

"No. In the eyes of everyone who matters, I'm dead. It means nothing if I die again...and if I can take them out in the process, it's worth it."

"Why call me?"

"Because of her." He held up a picture.

The coffee cup started shaking and Tim had to put it down.

"You recognize her?"

"Yes."

"That's why I called you."

"For what?" Tim asked. He had to consciously stop his fist from clenching.

"You want justice. Just like me. I can see it in your eyes, in how you move. We're the same."

Tim swallowed. He thought about taking another sip of the coffee, but he questioned whether or not he could get it up to his lips.

"You know where she is?"

"Yep. I've been watching her."

"You killed all the others?"

He nodded.

"Don't you want to get in on it?"

A large part of Tim was all for it. He could feel the anger, the desire, the _need_ to fight, to use the feelings against those who had given them to him. He felt the same twisted emotions as the man sitting across from him.

...and yet...

"Oh, I see. You're afraid to do it, aren't you. You want someone else to take care of it."

"I want her..."

"...dead? Or just arrested. You know that she won't get what she deserves if you just let her get arrested. She'll go to jail...maybe. She has money, Tim. She has money...and people who have money aren't held accountable. They buy their way out. You know it. These people have been running for a long time. They know how to work the system. How often does it happen?"

"All the time."

"You want to avoid that?"

"Yeah."

"I know how to get into her little mansion."

"You sure?"

"I've been watching her."

Tim stared at the photo of Cherie Montaine. She looked so...so normal. How could she have become such a...monster?

_How did I? ...because of her._

"Let's go." He picked up his cup, drained the rest of the coffee and followed the man out of the diner.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How much further, Abbs?"

"_Stay on 220...Tim's phone is...oh, it's on the move again. Heading north of a place called Stoneville."_

"So...he's not dead yet," Tony said.

"_Don't even _think_ that, DiNozzo. Death is not an option...unless I kill him."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're landing in a few minutes. Please take your seats."

"How far is this house from the airport, Sacks?" Fornell asked as he put on his seatbelt.

"About ten miles. The car should be there."

"Good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two-thirty in the morning. Tim had his gun. He didn't have his badge. He wasn't coming to make an arrest. He wasn't coming to ask questions. He was coming to make an end.

Together, they crept through the trees, around the house to the back door which was unlock and standing open.

"Why is it open?"

"I don't know. It's been standing open ever since I first found the place. Does it matter?"

"Not really."

"Are you ready for this? If not, you'd better leave. I'm not stopping."

Tim shook his head. "They deserve to die."

"Yes. They do."

They walked together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Um...Boss, doesn't that car have a familiar look to it?" Tony asked as they pulled up to a large house. "...or rather, don't the occupants of said car have a familiar look to them?"

Gibbs got out and stalked over.

"What are you doing here, Fornell?"

For once, Fornell looked surprised. "Me? What are _you_ doing here?"

There was a gunshot within the house and the argument stopped as quickly as it had begun. They all drew their weapons and ran in, shouting "Federal agents!" on their way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This doesn't feel right," Tim said.

The house was dark, almost empty. Of course, it was early in the morning, but...

"It never feels right...not until it's over."

Regardless, Tim pulled out his gun, walking carefully through the house.

"The bedroom is this way."

A hand snaked out of the darkness, slamming into Tim's companion's face.

"It is that way, but I am not there."

Tim pulled his gun around and aimed it at the lithe figure in front of him. His companion was on the ground, dazed.

"When I saw they were dying, I thought it might be you," she said.

Her voice. He remembered her voice. Imperious. Regal. She held herself as though she were royalty, convinced of her position...and able to maintain it. She brought up her foot and rammed it into the man's chest. He moaned but then lashed out with his foot, catching her in the knee, and tripped her up...

...right as Tim pulled the trigger.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, this house is huge! Where do we go?" Tony asked.

"Follow the sounds, idiot," Sacks growled.

"Shut up!" Gibbs and Fornell said in unison.

"That way!" Ziva pointed up the stairs.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The fight was such that Tim couldn't fire his gun again...but he also couldn't bring himself to join in the fray. He just stood there, pointing his gun at the struggling pair. Then, a few well-placed blows and Cherie had the man in a headlock, gun to his head.

"Well?" she asked. "It is now up to you. You're armed. You can kill me."

"Do it, Tim. Kill her."

"Even if you pull the trigger and shoot me in the head, I will have time to kill him."

"I'm already dead, Tim! Shoot her now!"

"The dead are weak. The living are strong. The masters, rule."

Still, Tim couldn't move.

"I chose you well. You fought for me and you killed for me. You are strong. You have me in your power now. Why don't you kill me?"

There were pounding footsteps and the others burst into the hallway. Tim was still standing with his gun on her. Cherie was still aiming at the man's head. Her smile was one of fierce pleasure.

"Oh, yes," she said with a sneer. "The federal agents. The living who are weak...bound by worthless laws that do nothing but protect those who should not survive."

She stepped backward, further into the shadows, dragging her captive with her. He struggled against her arms.

"Come on. You're not like them," she said to Tim. "You're not weak-willed. You killed. You won. You survived! Kill me!"

Tim walked forward toward her.

"McGee, stay back!" Gibbs said, trying to maneuver around them.

Tim spun around and pointed his gun at them.

"No! No, I won't let her get away with it! I won't let her do it again!" He threw his gun at them and ran into the room, closing the door behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"I knew you were stronger than that," Cherie said. She looked down at the man she held in a headlock. She met his eye, smiled and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun was a roar in the room.

"No!" Tim screamed as she dropped the lifeless body to the floor.

She took a small step backward...and then another. She stood in a small alcove. "He was weak. He could have become strong by working against us, but he chose revenge. He embraced his weakness and he died."

"You killed him!"

"McGee! Stop!"

He heard the voices behind him...and he flung himself at her.

"_Fight or die."_

"_Get to the wall and I won't hurt you again."_

"_Kill him and I won't hurt you again."_

"I won't kill him again!" he screamed and covered the space across the room...only to take a fist to his face. Lights exploded in his eye and he reeled backward. He felt blind, as if his eyes had been turned off.

Shouts and banging doors told him that the others had come inside again. An arm encircled his neck and he felt it tighten.

"Show me how strong you are," Cherie whispered in his ear, a knife pricking his throat. "Show me that you deserve to live!"

"Let him go!" Tim heard Fornell's voice ordering.

"Shoot me and he dies!" she retorted and then addressed Tim again. "You're the only one who can get you out of this. Only you. Either you're weak and you die or you're strong and you live. Which is it?"

"I said let him go!"

She merely laughed and tightened her grip. Even as he choked, Tim's vision began to clear and he saw that there were a lot of guns pointed in his general direction. ...there was an audience, people watching him.

"You...won't do this to me again..." Tim gasped and drove himself upward, pulling against her grip with a surge of energy and desire to get away. Another spasm of pain gripped him as she drove her foot into the small of his back. He flew forward...onto something hard...metallic.

_Gun..._ said his mind. Even as his body rebelled against the torment, Tim forced himself to roll over and get back to his feet, this time, aiming the gun directly at Cherie.

...who stood calmly facing him.

"McGee, stand down."

"No."

"Stand. _Down_!" Gibbs ordered.

"No!" Tim did not look away from her. He sensed movement behind him, but he knew that they wouldn't dare take him down while he had a gun on her. They still thought of him as salvageable...but that man had proved he wasn't. They were the same.

"You have to kill me," Cherie said, looking only at him. "You have to. You have no other option."

"Agent McGee, put down your weapon and step back."

Tim took a step...forward.

"The dead are weak," Cherie said, pointing on the body on the floor.

"Probie, come on. Stop this. Let us end it."

Another step.

"The living are strong."

"You're not going to get away," Tim said.

A third step.

"The masters...rule." Her smile was one of possession. "I rule you. I created you. You're mine. ...unless you have the strength to kill me, to get rid of me."

"McGee, don't listen to her."

"You know that I won't ever get what I deserve. You know that I'll have a team of lawyers saving me, buying off juries...painting me as someone who is damaged by her childhood of neglect." Her voice changed and she looked at him with a childlike expression of innocence. "I am not to blame for what I did. It was a reaction against childhood trauma."

"Put down your weapon, Agent McGee."

Cherie laughed, coldly, cruelly. "Only you can stop me. Do you really think that the _law_ can make me stop? Haven't you seen how easy it is to manipulate the law?"

Tim had. He remembered far too many times. He could feel the FBI agents and the NCIS team arrayed behind him. He could see, painfully, the dead body on the floor...another death on her head. ...but mostly, he could see Cherie ahead of him, standing swathed in shadows, silhouetted...always distant, but still calling the shots.

"You always stand there," Tim said. "You're never there when...you can't..."

"Oh, try to make a full sentence, express a full thought, why don't you," she said. "You're smart enough for that."

"I won't let you get away with this. I won't."

"You think that by letting them arrest me they'll be able to stop me?"

"No." Tim walked forward, gun on her wavering. His fingers were so tightly wound around the handle that his knuckles were white. "No, I don't think that."

"McGee, come back."

Tim heard the voice, but he ignored it. He walked closer to her.

"That's good that you don't because you know it's wrong."

Tim wasn't sure what he was doing. His mind was so full of conflicting desires that he didn't know what to do. He forgot about the witnesses to his actions. All he could see was Cherie. All he could see was that wall, the wall he could never reach.

"_Get to the wall and I won't hurt you again."_

He stopped a few steps from her.

"They can't stop you. They can't keep you from it. Only I can."

"That's right," Cherie said, smiling as if she had won.

Tim stood trembling for a moment and then leveled the gun at her.

"Ch-Cherie Mont-t-taine. You're under arr-r-r-rest." Tim felt as though it was taking every ounce of strength he possessed to say those words. "Put your h-ha-hands in the air."

...and he was surprised to see her confident expression falter. ...and for the first time, she showed anger. Not fear, not scorn. Anger.

Tim gulped for breath. He felt as though there wasn't enough air in the room. It was too oppressive as he fought against his desire to beat her to death, to throw the gun away and kill her using the same skills she had forced on him. That was what he wanted to do. What most of him wanted to do...

"Y-You're under arrest for...c-conspiracy to...to c-commit murder, f-for assault, b-battery, and for...d-disturbing the p-p-peace."

"You're not going to be able to..." she began.

"You h-have the right to r-r-r-remain s-s-silent. You have the r-r-r-right to all those attorneys. You h-h-have..."

Cherie's eyes narrowed. She had the same repressed energy that Tim had shown when he was first taken. In a second she had shifted from at ease to attacking. She whirled, moving so fast she was a blur. Her hand chopped down onto Tim's wrist. He groaned and his hand spasmed, dropping the gun.

The gun didn't reach the floor. She snatched it up and pointed it.

"The masters make the decisions. The masters rule. Only the masters have control over life and death."

Holding his wrist, Tim straightened and stared at the gun pointing at him.

"Y-You d-d-don't have control over m-m-my life anymore!" Tim turned around and faced the others. He knew he was blocking their shot. He could see it in their faces. He could see it in the way they kept trying to move around him. ...but it was as if they weren't really there. They were ciphers in the wind. They didn't really exist. All that existed in the world was behind him...and he was rejecting it, no matter the cost. ...but he wanted her to shoot him.

For the second time, the sound of a gunshot roared in the confines of the room. A body dropped to the floor.

Still shaking, Tim met Gibbs' angry and worried gaze for just a second before turning back. Cherie was dead...on the floor. The gun was laying beside her. She was dead. With a deep breath, Tim began to walk.

"Pr–"

Whatever Tony had been intending was prevented.

Step by trembling, fearful step, Tim walked to her. He stopped briefly and looked down...but then, with a few shallow breaths, he began to walk again.

The room was silent as Tim reached out his splinted hand and touched the wall.

Then, he pulled off the splint and reached out again.

Both hands reached out and stroked the wall, one above the other. Then, he stepped closer and leaned his head on his arms. His knees bent as he slowly began to slide down to the floor.

"I made it to the wall," he whispered. His fingers tightened and began to claw at the wall as Tim cried. "I made it to the wall. I made it. I made it to the wall."

A strong hand gripped his shoulder.

"I just wanted to make it to the wall, just once. I wanted them not to stop me, not to hurt me anymore. I wanted it to stop."

"It's all right, Probie. You made it."

"I wanted to kill her."

"But you didn't."

"But I wanted to. I wanted her dead. He said we're the same. He's right."

"No."

Tim curled his hand into a fist and pounded on the wall.

"I wanted to kill her!" he shouted.

"Hey, McGee! Stop that!" The same hand grabbed his wrist...which hurt like the dickens and pulled it away from the wall. "You already broke one hand. Let's not do the other."

"Let go of me!" Tim shouted and tried to turn around and wale on the person hurting him.

The hand dropped his wrist and, along with another hand, grabbed his shoulders and shook him a little. "Hey! Look at me! It's Tony!"

Tim blinked, although that hurt, too. More than his wrist, actually.

"Tony..."

"Yeah, McGee. I'm not hurting you. Okay?"

Tim swallowed. "Y-You are...actually. My wrist...it hurts."

"Oh...sorry, McGee."

"It hurts...and...and my face hurts. She...she hit me."

"Yeah..." Tony winced. "It looks like it does."

"Th-that bad?"

"Yeah...probably worse."

Tim blinked and looked at Cherie...and at the nameless man who also lay dead on the floor.

"He wanted to die."

"Who was he?"

"I don't know. Never told me his name."

"He was Daniel Ellis," Fornell said heavily behind them.

"How do _you_ know?" Gibbs asked.

"We found another body in New Jersey, stabbed...fingerprints on the knife. It took some time to match them."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Because he'd been declared legally dead by his family three years ago. Takes longer to find fingerprints from a dead guy."

"He said he was already dead," Tim whispered.

"He killed them all?"

Tim nodded.

"Well...that solves this case anyway," Sacks said, although he didn't sound very happy about it.

"No, it doesn't. There are more," Tim disagreed.

"How do you know?"

"He has a list. He told me."

"On him?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I didn't ask."

Sacks moved toward where Daniel lay sprawled out on the floor. Tim surged past Tony, knocking him to the floor, and violently shoved Sacks away.

"You are _not_ going to treat him like that! You are not going to use him! You are _not_ going to act like his life is meaningless! He is a human being! We're _all_ human beings and we deserve to be treated with _respect_!"

Gibbs grabbed Tim by the arm, carefully avoiding the sore wrist.

"Tim, calm down. He wasn't going to hurt him."

"She said that the dead are weak! She was wrong! The only weak person here is _her_!" He struggled to free himself from Gibbs' grasp. "I won't let it happen to him again! People dismissed him...they didn't believe him! He was–"

"Tim! Listen to me! Daniel Ellis is dead now. We need to know what he found so that we can stop the others from getting away with it. Got that?"

"I want to kill her, Boss. I want her to suffer!"

"She is already dead, McGee," Ziva said.

"Then, she's weak! The dead are weak! The living are strong!" Tim tried to pull away again. "You're not so strong now, are you! You're not a master anymore, are you! You're _dead_!"

"Tim, you can't fight her now. She's dead."

"That's not good enough!" Tim shouted. "It's not enough! She took the _easy_ way out! She didn't fight! She _ran away_!" He looked at Sacks who had taken a step, although the reason for that step was unclear. He might have just been trying to get away from Tim. "Leave him alone!"

Gibbs would not let him go.

"Tim, listen to me! It's over!"

"I don't want it to be over!"

"Do you want to become like Daniel?" Gibbs grabbed Tim's face and turned it toward Daniel. "Do you want to be like that? A killer? Dead? Is that what you want?"

Tim stared at the corpse, at the blood staining the floor, becoming docile. "I...I don't know."

"You already chose not to kill," Ziva said. "You know what you want."

Tim shook his head. "I don't know. I just...I didn't...I don't know." He looked at Daniel and then at Cherie. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"We need to find out what he knew, Agent McGee," Fornell said softly.

Tim nodded. "He didn't think anyone else would do anything. Shawn Orson gave him information." He took a long deep breath and finally stopped trying to get away from Gibbs. He stepped back. "I don't feel very good."

He sagged and fell against Gibbs.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Gibbs quickly readjusted his grip to prevent the both of them kissing the floor. "Whoa! I got you, Tim."

Tim's face was darkly bruised, particularly around his eye...unfortunately, the same one which had been healing. It was quite possible that the already-weakened bones had been cracked...again. In addition, what they could see of his eye was red, suffused with blood. A small rivulet of blood ran down his neck from Cherie's knife, accompanied by an area of skin reddened by the pressure from her arm. His wrist, although less impressively damaged, had signs of bruising as well...and based on the damage done by her hand on his face, the kick to his back had probably left a mark as well. All in all, Tim didn't look very good; so it was no surprise that he didn't feel good either.

"Dizzy..." he mumbled, eyes half-closed.

"Okay. Just relax. You're all right." Slinging one of Tim's arms around his shoulders, Gibbs hauled him out of the room...away from Cherie Montaine's body, away from the carnage she had left behind.

"What are we going to do about him, Agent Fornell?" Sacks asked, looking after them.

"Who?"

"Agent McGee. He was aiding and abetting attempted murder. No matter how justified, he was–"

"Was he?" Fornell looked back out the door and caught a glimpse of the NCIS team trying to help Tim rejoin reality...and full consciousness. "I didn't see anything like that. I saw an NCIS agent who was trying to help track down a criminal. Things got a little over his head, but other than that, he wasn't doing anything wrong." He met Sacks' gaze evenly, daring him to protest that interpretation.

"But...sir... he..." Sacks stopped talking. He didn't really want to pursue it anyway. "So...whose ME is going to take care of these people?"

"Ours, of course. Get him down here. This is a part of _our_ case, not theirs."

"Well..."

"Sacks, just do as I tell you for once!"

"Yes, sir." Sacks almost smiled as he pulled out his phone to make the request.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs sat Tim down on the steps going up to the third floor. He was almost unconscious...but Gibbs was determined to talk to him first.

"Tim, can you hear me?"

Tim nodded, but his head was none too steady. "...don't feel good..."

"I'm sure you don't. We'll get you checked out."

"I don't want to..."

"Want to what?"

"Why didn't she kill me first?"

Gibbs still had a hold of Tim's arm. "Tim, look at me."

"I don't want to."

"Look at me, Tim."

Tim raised his head. He was clearly on the swiftly losing end of the battle for consciousness, but Gibbs knew he needed to get through to him _now_, not after he woke up. In the wake of the suicide of the woman who had been responsible for his torture, he needed to see what he had done right, what he had known was real...so that he didn't forget it as the reality he still had to face reasserted itself in his head.

"What?"

"She wanted to be the one to end her own life and she knew she wouldn't be able to do that if she shot you first. She'd already lost you. You had already rejected her ownership. You did what _you_ wanted to do instead of what _she _wanted you to do. You won, Tim...not by killing but by refusing to kill. You won."

Tim struggled to grasp what he was being told, but it was obvious that he found it rather bitter. "It's not enough."

"It never is."

Tim's face crumpled and he dropped his head to hide the tears. Tony and Ziva sat down beside Tim, giving him more than just physical support.

"None of this can ever be enough. It just can't be because no matter what happens, it won't be bad enough to equal what was done to you."

"They killed Jethro."

"Yeah...we know, Probie."

"No, you don't understand," Tim said, now swaying dangerously. Ziva put an arm around his waist, carefully avoiding the place where Cherie had kicked him. "They _killed_ Jethro! They killed my dog! ...just because they could!"

"No, we get it," Tony insisted, although he didn't at all. Tim, however, was on the verge of passing out. "We'll just get you to the hospital and–"

"No! You _don't_ get it! You don't because you can't...because I don't want... because it's not fair."

"It's _not_ fair. You're right."

"...and I can't forget."

Tony wound his arm around Tim's shoulders.

Tim's head lolled as his eyes drooped...followed swiftly by his body doing the same.

"I wannnn forget..."

"He's out," Tony said as Tim finally allowed his body to shut down.

"Okay. Let's get him out of here."

"Where to, Boss? I don't even have a clue as to where the nearest hospital might be around here."

Fornell walked out of the room. "You want a lift back to DC?"

Tony looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"We flew into Stoneville. The plane is waiting. You want to get him back home? I don't see any reason to keep him here...and I don't particularly want him around while we're completing our investigation." Fornell looked at Tim...who was now slumped between Tony and Ziva who were the only things keep him from pitching forward onto the floor. "The kid's been through enough because of this case. Why put him through more when it's not necessary?"

"Who are you and what have you done with Fornell?" Tony asked.

_Thwack!_ ...but gently.

"Any of your guys coming along?" Gibbs asked.

"Nah. We'll be here all night. Stoneville might not be exciting, but there are hotels. The plane will come back for us later." He shook his head. "Just get him out of here, away from that... and get him the help he needs. Those two in there are responsible for enough deaths already." Then, he turned around and walked back into the room without another word.

"Okay, let's get him downstairs."

Another FBI agent poked his head out into the hallway. "Agent Gibbs, do you need any help getting Agent McGee out?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Agent Glesen, sir," he said. "Just joined the team a couple of months ago."

"Regretting it?" Tony asked.

"No, sir," he said. "Stopping people like that," he gestured behind him, "is why I joined the bureau. If I can help at all..." He nodded emphatically.

"All right, then. You take his shoulders, Agent Glesen."

Almost as if it were planned, Tony and Ziva took up flanking positions, leaving Gibbs to take Tim's feet. It was an awkward but smooth trip down to the car. Carefully, they installed Tim in the front passenger side, reclining the seat as much as possible...which left Tony and Ziva the unenviable position of squishing together in the back...and neither complained.

They managed to get Tim onto the plane, secured on a couch and the plane took off. Tim's eyes opened, red and green in the left, only once. He looked at them, sighed and closed his eyes again.

He never said a word.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

An ambulance was waiting for them at the airport. Since none of them had called for it, it must have been Fornell. It was an intriguing development...although they didn't spend a whole lot of time thinking about it at the time.

"Tim, it's time to go to the hospital, okay?"

No response. It was obvious that Tim wasn't asleep or unconscious, but he wasn't moving or responding.

"Come on, Probie." Tony crouched beside the motionless figure. He touched Tim's arm lightly.

Nothing.

Ziva gave it a shot as well. "McGee, will you come with us?"

Nothing.

In the end, they were forced to get the waiting EMTs to move Tim out. It wasn't an obviously urgent case, but Tim's injuries were bad enough that they promised to get him in as quickly as possible...and under psychiatric observation as well. Abby would be waiting at the hospital with Ducky and Jimmy.

...and maybe they could do something. ...but it seemed unlikely.

Tim was shutting them out. For what reason, who knew, but he was. He had retreated from life and done it so quickly that no one had a chance to stick their metaphorical feet in the door.

Physically, the damage could have been worse. Cherie Montaine had not been a large nor obviously strong woman but she had known how to inflict damage on an opponent. There was a vaguely foot-shaped bruise on Tim's back which would, no doubt, be long in healing. His wrist, although not broken, had suffered a second-degree sprain. His face was the worst. The orbital was indeed cracked again, accompanied this time by a subconjunctival hemorrhage and hyphema. The hemorrhage wasn't serious, of course, but the hyphema would be watched carefully to be sure that the ocular pressure didn't increase. From a strictly medical standpoint, Tim would be unfit for any degree of physical activity for a couple of weeks. The doctor prescribed bed rest for the hyphema...and since Tim's body, as a whole, wasn't exactly in stellar condition, the bed rest would give him a chance to really recover.

Psychologically, the damage could also have been worse. Tim had shown the strength required to resist the desire to kill Cherie...but he had not eliminated the desire to be the agent of her death. The fact that she now was dead gave him no comfort. The murder of Daniel Ellis seemed to have affected him deeply. He docilely accepted orders given to him. He would do it. He just wouldn't speak. His therapist attributed it to a need to work things out in his head, but she acknowledged that it might take a concentrated effort on the part of his friends to break him out of the funk into which he had fallen.

"_Run to the wall and I won't hurt you again."_

"_Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you again."_

"_Kill him and I won't hurt you again."_

"_Well done."_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Hey, Tim. How are you feeling, today?" Abby asked, as she had every day for the last week while Tim was laying in a hospital bed. She hoped (or pretended that she really hoped) that Tim would forget that he was refusing to speak and answer her.

He didn't. He sighed and blinked slowly, moving his eyes from the ceiling to her and then back to the ceiling.

"That good, huh? Well, I hope you're ready for another exciting day of..." she paused, held up the book, "..._The Moonstone_. Actually, you know, I'm almost glad you're refusing to say anything. I've never read it and it's actually pretty cool. Wilkie Collins might have had a funny-sounding name, but he knew how to write."

There was a faint smile. There were moments, reactions that Tim couldn't repress, things like that smile which told his friends that he was listening, just not choosing to talk.

"Okay, so where were we? Oh, yeah. I stopped at the narratives. We're on Miss Clack." Abby cleared her throat dramatically and began to read. "'I am indebted to my dear parents (both now in heaven) for having had habits of order and regularity instilled into me at a very early age. ...'"

Tim listened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby saw Ducky through the window an hour or two later. She smiled and nodded in response to his gesture.

"Okay, Tim. We'll do chapter five tomorrow." She marked the place, leaned over and kissed Tim gently on his cheek.

Then, she walked out.

"Hey, Ducky. He smiled today when I made a joke."

"That's something."

"Yeah, but it's not enough!" Abby declared, feeling a combination of anger and fear that distressed her. "We're trying so hard. Why isn't Tim trying, too?"

"Maybe he is."

"He's not _acting_ like it."

Ducky leaned over and kissed Abby on the cheek...in much the same fashion as she had kissed Tim. "Maybe it's too hard to _act_ like he's trying."

"I want him to be okay, Ducky. I just can't tell if this is better or worse than before."

"Well, my turn. We'll see what I can do."

"Don't read any more of _The Moonstone_. I want to see what happens next."

Ducky smiled and raised his hands in capitulation. Abby grinned back and then walked away. After she had departed, Ducky's smile faded as he looked in on their silent comrade. Whatever Tim's reasons for maintaining his silence, if, indeed, he had any conscious reason for it, they were unclear, except that they must be related to what had happened in that house...and by extension, what he himself had done.

It was a state that could not be healthy. Where Tim had run hot before, ready to fight at the slightest inclination, he was now so cold as to be utterly frozen. An embraced state? Or one happened upon by desperation? Either way, something had to be done to break through it. ...even if it meant opening up his own recently healed wounds.

_I will do my best, and perhaps it will be enough._

With that thought, Ducky entered the room.

"Good evening, Timothy," he said kindly. "Abigail has chastised me for reading ahead in _The Moonstone_ and so I am forbidden to continue it. You will have to make due with only an old man's maunderings."

Again, that small smile, revealing a mind still engaged, if held back.

Ducky picked up Tim's chart. "You seem to be healing well enough. There is no sign of glaucoma as yet, but the doctors are still watching for it. The cracks look as though they are not going to cause more problems, although healing will take more time. Yes, your eye isn't looking very lovely at the moment, but the hemorrhage will heal in time. Most things do."

Tim's eyes blinked. His left eye, the damaged one, could only open less than halfway, and what could be seen there was not exactly lovely, but he blinked.

"It's true, although some things never go away." Ducky sighed heavily and replaced the chart. "Oh, Timothy. This is unfair, I know. This horror you have had to face...it is not something you have deserved. You could never deserve something like this. We are all trying to help you, but we also all know that we can't do it ourselves."

No response, although the eyes blinked slightly more than was needful...and the right eye took on a sheen.

"However much the rest of them care for you, Timothy, I know that they cannot truly understand how you feel. They have killed in the line of duty, to stop criminals. They have even been in the unenviable position of having to let guilty men go." Ducky paused. "...but only you and I know the pain and guilt that comes of killing an innocent man."

Almost a movement. Not quite. The merest suggestion of it.

"Yes, you know to whom I refer. We have both been the killers of someone who was not deserving of death, nor of the pain that preceded it. Both of us have killed an innocent human being. I dare say that the guilt for one is not appreciably less than the guilt for three."

The only response was a tear. It was not much...but it was something. It was more than before. He decided to continue.

"Let me speak as someone who knows and understands, lad. You feel that you can never forget what you did. ...and you're right. You can't. Not a day goes by that I don't remember, that I don't regret it. You are afraid that the rest of your life will be ruined by what you have done. To a degree, that is also correct. My life took a vastly different road than I had planned. Better? Worse? Who knows, really...but different...yes. Very different. I could never have continued on my previous course after Afghanistan."

Tim's eyes closed, jarring loose another tear. Ducky reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"Even now, I don't wish to speak of it, to speak of the details. So many years later and the memory of it still haunts me. I remember how I felt, how it was to hold another's life in my hands...and to take that life away. One never becomes truly whole after that moment, no matter the justification you use."

Tim's body began trembling beneath Ducky's comforting hand...but he said nothing.

"You are trying to deny the impulses you feel. Your experience was quite different from my own, but the end result was the same. We were both forced to take a life. We were both prevented from taking our revenge on that person. Nothing we could do would ever be enough to pay back the ruin, the pain...and the life that was taken."

The trembling became shaking. More tears. ...but no words.

"You have probably been asking yourself, 'what can I do with my life now?' now that a life has been taken at your hand. You don't know how return to a normal life when you feel anything _but_ normal. You feel broken...because that's what you are. I sat on that plane and wished for nothing less than a crash that would put me out of my misery...because I could not quite bring myself to end my own life, no matter how miserable it was to me. I wanted it to be an accident, something where the choice was taken from me. An event that would not require me to decide."

A soft whimper escaped.

"...but nothing happened. I could not destroy the man who shared the blame. I could not destroy myself. No more could I excise that memory from my mind. I could only continue to live...and I chose to give a voice to those who could not speak for themselves. You are in a similar position, Timothy. You have to choose what to do...because you cannot continue as you have to this point."

Ducky waited for a response. He could sense the waters of despair building up on the other side of the dam Tim had built up. He had said the words which needed to be said and now he was waiting for the response that would surely come if he was patient.

Tim moved...and he spoke.

"I want to die, Ducky. I want to die," Tim finally wept, grabbing Ducky's hand and gripping it tightly.

Ducky smiled in understanding and put his free arm around Tim's shoulders, holding the man who was weeping in utter despair.

"I went there to d-d-die. I want to be dead. I don't w-w-want to... I'm not as s-s-strong as y-y-you."

"Oh, no, lad. This is not a matter of strength."

"C-c-c-can't bear it anymore."

Ducky felt his throat tighten. "Yes, you can. That's what hurts so much. You know that you _can_ but you don't _want_ to bear it. You don't want that fight. It's more than you _want_ to bear." Holding Tim tightly, he went on. "You don't want to have to go back to your home and confront the first innocent who died."

Tim tensed and made a brief attempt to pull away.

"You didn't kill Jethro, but I believe you feel the loss as deeply as if you actually had done so. He died for you...and you face that every time you enter your apartment. Isn't that true? Isn't that why you tried to remove any sign of his presence?"

Tim didn't answer, but he buried his head in Ducky's shoulder.

"Oh, Timothy. I know how hard this is for you, but what you are doing now will not help."

"N-Nothing will h-h-help."

"Yes, it will. With time. Time, Timothy, will be the biggest help. It will not remove the pain, the memory, but it will dull it...and make life possible to live again."

"How?"

"Distance can often allow you to see it in context."

"Can you?"

"Yes...not well. Not always, but I can...and you all helped with that."

"Thirty years later."

Ducky smiled. "Yes. Even thirty years later I am still healing."

"I don't want to take that long."

"It may. It may not. You will never know unless you try."

Tim was silent again. He let go of Ducky's hand and wrapped his arms around his waist. He said nothing...and neither did Ducky. Words were done for now. Instead, Ducky allowed Tim to take what comfort he could from someone who truly did know what it meant to take a life. They both knew that the situations were not exactly equivalent. Tim was dealing with something that Ducky never had to face, but it was the deaths more than the impulse to fight that caused him so much pain. It was an empathy and a sympathy that allowed this closeness.

For Ducky, it was also a paternal need to comfort one so young and so in need of comfort.

"I was the same," Tim said twenty minutes later.

"As whom?"

"As the man...as Daniel Ellis. He wanted to die. He wanted to fight. He wanted to kill them."

"Yes, your feelings were probably quite similar...but you had much that he did not."

"Like what?"

"Like a life to live. Daniel Ellis was declared dead by his family when he went missing. By the time he returned, his wife had remarried, the children had been raised and sent to college by another man...using the life insurance paid out with his so-called death. If he had declared himself, that money would have been forfeit. His family had moved on from him. He had nothing. You, on the other hand, have family, friends, a job, people who care for you, who love you...people who will not let you simply end your life by stopping living."

"But that's what I want."

"I know that, but it is not what is best."

"For who?"

"For you, Timothy. You have so much of life ahead of you."

"I don't see it."

"I know you don't, but it's there. Trust me."

"You won't let me go, will you."

"Never, lad. Never."

"Then, I guess I don't have much choice." Tim's voice wasn't full of joy...or anger about it. It was just a stating of the facts.

"You do have a choice. You can choose to retreat once more to the silence. You can resist all attempts to save you until saving is no longer possible. ...or you can embrace the chance and try."

There was another long silence.

"Ducky?" Tim asked, finally.

"Yes, lad?"

Tim sat up and looked Ducky, his expression made unreadable by the damage to his face. Then, to Ducky's surprise, a small smile graced his lips.

"Don't tell Tony that I cried on your shoulder." A few errant tears escaped even as he tried to smile. "He'd never let me live it down."

Ducky laughed softly. "I will take the secret with me to the grave."

Tim swallowed and the fragile smile faded away. "I still want to die, Ducky. I still want them dead."

"The loss, the pain...they are still fresh in your mind. I would expect nothing less."

Tim nodded slowly.

"Ducky?"

"Yes?"

"C-Could I cry on your shoulder again?" He tried to smile as he said it, but the smile couldn't quite come.

"Any time, lad. Any time."

Without another word, Ducky held Tim as he cried.

No more words were spoken, and when Tim slept, Ducky let himself out of the room in silence.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

It was a soft voice reading.

"'...There he was—the dear old friend of the happy days that were never to come again—there he was in the old corner, on the old beehive chair, with his pipe in his mouth, and his ROBINSON CRUSOE on his lap, and his two friends, the dogs, dozing on either side of him! In the position in which I stood, my shadow was projected in front of me by the last slanting rays of the sun. Either the dogs saw it, or their keen scent informed them of my approach; they started up with a growl. Starting in his turn, the old man quieted them by a word, and then shaded his failing eyes with his hand, and looked inquiringly at the figure at the gate.

'My own eyes were full of tears. I was obliged to wait a moment before I could trust myself to speak to him.'"

The voice stopped.

"That's enough, Abby," Tim said...and set the book on the side table.

"Oh, come on, Tim! You just barely started Franklin's narrative! It's just getting good!"

"Just now?" he asked.

"You know what I mean. People have been explaining what's going on...but now...now we're getting Franklin Blake's point of view! He's the instigator! He's the one who will explain it all!"

"Not for a little while. He doesn't understand it himself yet. He has to get to..." Tim stopped. "...well, there are a lot of things he has to understand."

"You could read some more..." Abby hinted.

Tim shook his head. "No, that's a good place to stop."

He looked around his bedroom. He was still on doctor ordered bed rest but had been allowed to return to his apartment.

"I don't like living here, Abby," he said finally.

"It will just take some time to–"

"No. I don't think it will just take time. I think it's going to be a lot harder than that. I don't know if I want to fight my problems here as well as in my head."

"You're going to move?"

"Well...not yet. I'm supposed to be laying in bed all day." His hand clenched convulsively at the sheet. "At...at least it's soft. The place they gave me to...sleep...wasn't comfortable. I stayed on the floor...most of the time."

"But you want to move?"

"What I _want_ to do is set a match to everything I own...but that's not what I _should_ do."

Abby looked to the corner where Jethro's dog bed had been. She steeled herself for a conversation that Tim didn't want to have.

"Jethro being killed wasn't your fault, you know, Tim."

Tim's hand again clenched into a fist. His hands often seemed to have minds of their own, movements unrelated to anything else.

"It wasn't. If anything...it was my fault."

The fist spasmed once and then lay still.

"How could it be _your_ fault?"

"I gave Jethro to you." She grimaced. "Okay, I forced you to take Jethro. He was only in your apartment because I made you take a dog you didn't want. So...you can blame me for it."

"It's not your fault."

Abby leaned forward. "It's not _your_ fault either. Those...those guys who took you killed him, not you, not me. They did. I hate them for it and I want to tear them limb from limb for it...but I hate what they did to you more."

"I hate them, too."

"Did you get rid of everything of Jethro's?"

"Yes."

"The pictures, too?"

Tim's eyes strayed from Abby to his closet as he slowly shook his head.

"You hid them?"

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't."

"I don't like seeing them. He was just a dog."

"Yes, I know...but he was also _your_ dog...and hiding the pictures is like you feel guilty for having him...like you feel guilty for him dying." She smiled. "Since we've already established that you're _not_ to blame...you should keep the pictures out."

Tim managed a weak smile.

"Oh, Timmy. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to do something you think you have to do just because someone else did something you don't like and then did...whatever. I'm losing track of the someones and things."

"Me, too." Tim's smile was slightly wider.

"Don't give up, Tim."

"No one's letting me give up."

"That's right. We aren't. So you can't."

Tim managed to keep the smile, although it wavered. "Just keep reminding me, okay? So I don't forget."

Abby hugged him gently. "Every five minutes, if you want me to."

"Thanks. Abby could you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Would you get me the files of the...the men I...killed?"

Abby sat back abruptly. "Oh...Tim... I...I'm not sure..."

Tim shook his head, denying her attempt at lying. "You know who I killed. I'll bet you all took the time to figure it out. You know. Would you please get me the files?"

"Why, Tim?"

"I need to know. Please, Abby."

Abby nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Tim...but it will take some time."

He accepted the waffling.

"Why don't we read another chapter?"

"Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It had been a week. Tim hadn't asked her again, but he knew she remembered...and he knew that Abby would eventually come through, probably after she had made sure that Gibbs approved. Carefully, Tim sat up. The hyphema seemed to be resolving itself, and finally, the blood was being reabsorbed from his eye...but Tim didn't want to go blind. He was willing to be careful to prevent that. If he was going to live...it wasn't going be with one blind eye.

There was a knock at the door, and Tim walked to it in resignation. Tony had been promising to bring one of the movie versions of _The Moonstone_ and watch it...and he'd been backing out at the last minute...or else "suddenly" remembering he had plans. Gibbs, Abby and Ducky had been the most persistent. Tim couldn't decide if he liked it or not. Maybe that was why Tony wasn't coming by. He couldn't decide either.

He looked through the peephole and opened the door in surprise.

"Hey, Ziva."

"It is good to see you on your feet again."

"Thanks. Do you want to come in?"

"No."

"What?"

Ziva smiled. "No. I would like to invite _you_ to come _out_. That is permitted now, yes?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Would you like to come out?"

"Where?"

"Just outside." She looked a little uncomfortable. "I would have assumed that you would _want_ to come outside rather than be stuck in your apartment."

Tim looked back over his shoulder and the empty (and yet somehow crowded) cavern.

"Okay. Let's go." He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Is there anywhere you would like to go in particular?"

Tim shook his head and didn't speak.

"Very well, I will lead."

Tim followed her and was surprised when Ziva didn't try to engage him in conversation. Instead, she simply walked beside him down the sidewalk to a park. He'd taken Jethro here a few times...but it would be hard to find a park in walking distance he _hadn't_ taken Jethro to at least once. Ziva led him to a shaded bench.

"Abby told me of what you wanted her to do."

"Only you?"

"No. She told us all."

"Took a while."

"Yes, well, with Abby it sometimes takes a long time to get to the point."

Tim let out a chuckle.

"Are you sure you wish to know?"

"Will it change anything if I keep on pretending like they weren't real people I killed?"

Ziva put her hand on his arm and felt the momentary stiffening that still accompanied physical contact.

"No, but knowing the details may be unnecessarily painful."

"Please, just tell me."

"Very well." She reached into her bag and pulled out a few sheets of paper. "Would you like to read them yourself?"

Tim shook his head and stared ahead, watching normal people go on with their normal lives. It seemed as impossible an aspiration as flying.

"The first man was Harold Donnerson. He was a banker from Oklahoma, missing for nearly two years. His family was grateful to know where he was, finally...even if he had died. He appears to have been the final victor in the last round."

"Family?" Tim asked.

"Three. All girls, glad to have the not knowing over."

Tim nodded, remembering the man's wild eyes, how far from humanity he had been driven by what had happened...by what he had been forced to do.

"The second man, Alan Matherson, was from California. He was a beach bum according to the report. Was missing for two months before his friends realized that he had not just moved to another beach. He was single, had a number of girlfriends and his parents had only just realized that he was missing."

Tim nodded again. He had been afraid. Alan Matherson had been terrified of dying.

"PFC James Dallon..."

"The Marine," Tim whispered. Of all the men, this one still haunted him the most.

"Yes." Ziva reached out and touched him again, laying her hand lightly over his. "Are you sure you want to hear?"

"Yes. Go on."

"Reported UA after missing duty. We investigated and found signs of a struggle in his home."

"What kind of person was he?"

Ziva left her hand where it was. "Considered an excellent soldier, would have gone far in the Marine Corps. He was single, no significant other. Fourth son and the fifth child of six. He joined the Marines to honor his father."

"And I killed him."

"Yes."

That was Ziva. She didn't bother denying what was unavoidably true. Somehow, he felt no condemnation from her blunt agreement.

"I didn't want to do it."

"I know."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'm going to move."

Ziva nodded. "I am not surprised. When did you decide?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know."

"Have you found a place?"

"No."

"Have you looked?"

"No."

"Are you sure you wish to move?"

"Yes. I can't stand being in there."

"Because of Jethro?"

Tim shook his head. "Not only... I'd actually been thinking about it for a while because..." He faltered again. "...the apartment was...too...small."

"For Jethro?"

Tim nodded mutely and looked again at all the normal people walking around.

"Why else?"

"T-Too much has...has happened there. I don't think...don't think that I can..." He shook his head. "...s-s-stay there."

Ziva nodded. "When will you look?"

"When I can."

"Which will be?"

"I don't know."

"You will make a decision and you will let us know; so that we can help you." With that, Ziva seemed to declare their outing over and she stood.

Tim looked up at her for a minute or two.

"Come, McGee. You should rest."

"Okay."

He stood and they began a slow trek back.

"Ziva?"

"Yes?"

"How do you deal with it?"

"With what?"

"Killing people."

Ziva stopped. She seemed almost offended...but Tim didn't bother to elaborate.

"Why?"

"Because I can't."

"You will. In time." She continued walking.

"What if I can't wait for that time?"

"You will."

"Ziva."

Again, Ziva stopped walking...and this time she looked at him.

"You cannot look to me as an example, McGee. I am not a good example of how to deal with it."

"Why not?"

"Because I was raised to it. You were not. I was raised, as you said once before, to be a killer while you were raised to be a gentleman. I look on death as a necessity while you see it as a last resort, something undertaken in extremities not as a matter of course."

"You do?"

"Yes. Death is something that must come to everyone...and if I must choose between someone killing me and me killing them, I will choose them. That is what you did...but for you, it is shameful while for me it is simply practical."

"I have to look on it as a necessity?"

Ziva smiled. "No. You do not _have_ to do anything I say. I told you. We are very different. My ways cannot _be_ your ways because we are different people. You must find a way to live with what you did. You _must_ because it is important that you live. We do not wish to lose you."

"Even if _I_ want to be lost?"

"We are selfish beings, McGee. You wish to save yourself pain by dying. We wish to save _ourselves_ pain by keeping you alive."

"Thanks...I guess."

Placing her hands on either shoulder, Ziva looked into his eyes. "We also believe that it is better for you to live and heal than it would be for you to die in pain. We do want what is best for you, McGee. ...because we care for you."

"I'll try to remember that."

In a surprisingly gentle gesture, Ziva lifted one of her hands and placed light fingers over his broken and healing face.

"Do remember it...because it is more true than you could ever know."

It was somehow slightly easier to walk into the apartment when they returned.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Three weeks later..._

The popping sound coming from the kitchen was something Tim was steadfastly trying to ignore. As long as it was only popping and not the crashing of glassware, he would endure it. There was a childish giggle...which he also tried to ignore. Instead, he focused on the bookshelf before him. Some of these were books he hadn't pulled off the shelf since he'd first moved in. He didn't collect books in the same way he collected records, but he loved books and would prefer to buy them rather than check them out of a library...when he could afford it, of course.

He'd been sitting here for a full twenty minutes and hadn't yet filled a single box. Yes, he wanted to move...no, he did _not_ want to pack. Packing meant looking at pieces of his life that just didn't fit into who he was anymore.

His typewriter, for instance... Tim hadn't even touched it since coming back. He hadn't wanted to. Writing was something that he couldn't fathom doing anymore. How could he write when he'd become one of the villains?

Books. Books. Books. He had too many. He figured he should probably toss some of them...but that was too hard to do. He loved his books and had read every one of them at least once...including his textbooks.

More giggling. More popping.

Tim reached out and pulled a book off the bottom shelf. Dante's _Divine Comedy_. He hadn't read it in years, probably not since he first bought it. It was a cheap copy. He remembered it, though. Dante, led by Vergil, traveled through all the circles of Hell, up through Purgatory...and then he was conducted by the lady Beatrice through Paradise. He almost lost his way through Hell because of his guilt.

_He was pulled out by knowing that he wasn't so guilty as he feared. ...and he had someone to keep him from getting lost. He had a guide through Hell._

A hand on his shoulder and another reaching down to pull the book from his hands pulled him out of his bleak thoughts.

"Dante. Such a powerful work, written in the vernacular which was rare for literature in the fourteenth century. A fascinating tale."

Tim smiled ruefully. Leave it to Ducky to see another side to it. He pulled Tim's chair around and leaned forward.

"Is this what you really want, Timothy?"

"Well, I do like Dante."

"Timothy."

Tim took back the book and set it resolutely in the box.

"Yes. Really, I should have moved a long time ago. I've been able to afford it...but... I get...too attached to things, places. Like...these books. I don't need them. I haven't read them in years...but I can't bear to get rid of them...even if it hurts to see them."

"Why does it hurt?"

"I bought them in another lifetime, Ducky." He pulled another book off the shelf. Conrad's _Heart of Darkness_. "These down here are books I haven't read in ages. That's why they're on the bottom. I didn't know what they really meant when I read them for college. They were just stories. Dante went to Hell, saw the condemned souls and nearly condemned himself...but he was saved, pulled from the innermost circle and brought back to earth before ascending the levels of Purgatory."

"Unpleasant reminders, then?"

"Of pleasant times," Tim said and grimaced. "I'm being melodramatic, aren't I."

"Perhaps a tad...but it is understandable in the circumstances."

"Tony, if you pop one more...bubble, I will kill you."

"Oh, Ziva, it's fun! You should try it!" Abby urged.

"We are here to help McGee move, not to play with the packing material."

"We have plenty of bubble wrap, Zee-vah!"

A rumble of pops issued from the kitchen...followed by a high-pitched yelp coming from Tony.

Tim smiled as he met Ducky's amused gaze.

"They're happy over there, Ducky," he said in a low voice. "They're _happy_. I'm not, even though this is what I want to do. They're helping me and they're happy. I just can't feel that."

"I know that, lad. No one...well, _most_ of us do not expect you to feel that yet. I will confess that not everyone is ready to face your new reality."

"Am I?"

"Possibly not...although you are doing an admirable job of it."

"Yeah. Right."

"You are. It has been barely two months since your abduction. This kind of experience will not be cured in year, let alone a month. Don't expect too much of yourself."

Tim leaned around the bookshelf and looked toward the kitchen. Tony had talked to him but only briefly before heading to the kitchen to help Abby.

"Tony does care, Timothy."

"Yeah, I know." He set _Heart of Darkness_ in the box and then began to attack the shelf with reckless abandon, shutting Ducky out as he tried to get all the books into boxes.

Ducky patted his shoulder and then stood to join Gibbs in the bedroom where he was supposedly packing a box. He was watching Tim. Three weeks had done wonders for his appearance. Swelling had gone down, leaving the red scars behind. Most of the blood had cleared from his eye and even his knuckles were looking less like they belonged to Mike Tyson (pre-biting ears off) and more like the computer geek Tim...used to be. Outwardly, he was much better. Gibbs was worried, though.

"He's not really better," he said quietly.

"No, I'm afraid not. He is improved from how he was, but no, he is not better."

"Will this really help?"

"Moving? Possibly. Timothy has been facing the place from which he was taken and the place in which Jethro was killed. He does not like it and getting out of it might just be what he needs."

"There are too many maybes right now, Ducky."

"It's better than absolutes which result in Timothy dying or being committed," Ducky said bluntly.

"Yeah..."

"He's not ready for another fight, Jethro."

Gibbs smiled faintly. "That wasn't what I was thinking about. I just don't want him to run away."

"If he decides to do so, we can only recommend that he not do so. We cannot force him to do what _we_ think is better."

"Isn't that what we've already done by insisting that he keep trying?"

"No. Timothy himself, at least a part of him, wishes to survive. The bulk of him just doesn't want the fight required. He's tired of fighting, Jethro."

"So...this move?"

"Is a form of capitulation to his own...spiritual exhaustion, if you will, but it is also a need to create a safer space. We cannot begrudge him that."

"I don't." Gibbs bent over and picked up a box. "I just hope it works."

Ducky didn't follow Gibbs out, but his words did.

"So does Timothy."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

With so many willing hands, it took only the morning to finish packing Tim's possessions. Then, they loaded the truck and drove to Tim's new apartment. Tim was not allowed to move the furniture...or the boxes of books he had packed. Instead, he was forced into his bedroom to unpack his clothes and other bedroom things. His apartment was still within Silver Spring but south of the Beltway. It was larger than his previous apartment, still a one bedroom, but with more space for his stuff...and a small den. Tim made no move to set it up as a writing space, and it was hard to miss the fact that he wasn't writing anymore.

Tony had felt Tim staring at him off and on all day long, but he had tried to ignore it. That expression was unnerving. He knew that Tim had noticed how much Tony had been avoiding spending a lot of time with him. It wasn't right and Tony wasn't proud of it...but he just didn't feel ready to face it. Ziva had been right that he tried to pretend nothing was wrong while Abby blew everything out of proportion. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of, but he knew that she was right.

How did you deal with a friend who had previously been the most harmless guy in the world and now could kill Gibbs if he had the desire to...and already almost had? It wasn't something he was ready to deal with. He was trying to be, but so far he wasn't...and it would be worse for Tim if Tony crept around him and treated him like a time bomb ready to go off.

So he helped unpack. He helped arrange Tim's apartment...and he took the time to put Tim's writing desk and typewriter in the den, making sure that it was placed in such a way as to be conducive to writing...should Tim ever start writing again.

"It looks very nice, Tony," Ziva said from behind him. "McGee will appreciate it."

"I'm not sure about that. I just wanted to get the job done fast."

"That is why you made sure that _you_ were the only one to work in here? To be fast?"

"I wanted it done right."

"I am sure you did."

"Don't read anything into this, Ziva."

Ziva grinned. "I do not have to. It is screaming itself out loud."

"What is?" Tony asked, trying not to meet her all-too-knowing gaze.

"You are trying to tell McGee that it is time to go back to normal."

"Am I? By organizing a room?"

"Yes...and it is a nice thing to do...although I do not believe McGee will see what you are doing."

"You don't?" Tony asked, forgetting to pretend he wasn't doing what Ziva thought he was. "Why not?"

"Because he does not think he _can_ go back to normal."

"How do _you_ know?"

"Because I have spoken with him...not as much as I should have. I admit that I have done less than I should. But I have spoken to him and it is obvious from one conversation that McGee has no hope of becoming normal again."

"Well, that's just stupid. He can."

"He does not believe it."

"Why not?"

"You should ask McGee, not me. I am not sure I can understand."

Tony looked back over his shoulder to where Tim was standing with Abby in the kitchen trying to help her put away his dishes.

"Why?"

"Because McGee has, in his mind, become a killer and he cannot fathom how he must live. I have been a killer for many years. I do not have that problem." She shrugged and walked out of the room.

Tony looked back at the writing desk. It was funny that he had taken so much time to do this. It wasn't as if he even enjoyed Tim's books all that much...or the fact that he had used his coworkers as character models. ...but Tim had been a writer almost as long as Tony had known him. He had told him about it without thinking...and Tony had mostly forgotten about it, but somewhere in his brain, Tony figured he must have cataloged that as something that was a part of his idea of who Tim was...and now it didn't fit...and Tony didn't like it when things didn't fit. Was it altruism or selfishness? He wasn't sure. He just knew that he personally felt better with Tim's dumb typewriter set up on the old desk with the old chair.

"It looks nice, Tony."

Tony jumped and turned around. When had Tim learned to walk so quietly?

"Well, it's your stuff. I just put it in here."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Tim walked past Tony and approached the typewriter. Hesitantly, he reached out and ran his fingers over the keys...but he didn't type anything. He just turned his back on it and walked out of the room again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By that evening, Tim's things had been unpacked and set up. His previous lack of living room furniture was very obvious...since he now _had_ a living room of sorts.

"Kind of empty, isn't it," he said, looking at the chair, side table and television set up there.

"It won't be for long," Abby said. "You'll fill it."

Tim smiled a little. "Yeah, probably. I always did fill the space I had."

Tony made a grandiloquent gesture. "And look at how much space you have to fill now, Probie."

"Yeah."

The single word fell into the void and sucked the life out of the room. Tim felt the change as much as the rest of them. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, we're done at least."

Ducky put an understanding arm around Tim's shoulders and smiled. "Yes, quite satisfactorily done...and looking at the time, I can see it's time for dinner. My treat."

"I'm...I'm not very hungry."

"Come with us, Timothy," Ducky said quietly. "You need it...as do we."

Tim swallowed and nodded, allowing himself to be directed out of his new apartment.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

It was dark. Quiet. It was a relief. Every night when he turned out the lights, Tim would exhale in relief...as he set up his bed on the floor. There was a patch of moonlight tonight on the floor where he lay. It was lovely to feel the cold light on his face, to lay stretched out beside his bed, to feel the hard floor on his back, to know that no one would be coming for him, not this time.

He wasn't sure why he felt better on the floor than on his bed. His back sometimes ached in the morning from it...but he couldn't sleep when he lay on his bed.

A knock on the door startled him out of his calm thoughts. He sat up, heart pumping before he remembered that if someone was coming after him, they wouldn't take the time to knock first.

_No, they'd come in, kill whoever was there and then..._

He swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths as he stood up and walked out of his bedroom. He walked unerringly to the door without turning on any lights. There was still nothing of note in his living room. He had set up his computer there...and his work station had taken over the dining area, but the living was still mostly empty.

Tim got to his door and looked through the peephole. Then, he pulled back and opened the door.

"Tony, it's late. Why are you here?"

"It's only about ten, McGee," Tony said. "That's not late at all."

"I was in bed."

Tony suddenly backed down. "Sorry, McGee."

Tim looked at him strangely. "Sorry? You're sorry? For what?"

"For waking you up?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I wasn't asleep. You probably knew that as soon as I opened the door. Why are you...sorry?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably and Tim thought it looked as though he wanted to run away.

"Can I come in, McGee?"

Tim stepped back without a word. Tony walked by him and noticed that the door to the den was closed.

"You been writing at all?"

Tim shook his head.

"Can I turn on a light?"

Another shake.

"Power out?"

"Why are you here, Tony?"

"I brought _The Moonstone_."

"What?"

Tony held up a video, almost sheepishly.

"Oh." Tim looked at his television. "I'm...not really in the mood for watching a movie right now, Tony."

"Yeah, okay."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Can't I just be sorry for bugging you?"

"Have you _ever _been?"

Tony's smile was uncomfortable.

"You don't have to be here, Tony. You can go."

"Do you want me to?"

Tim wasn't sure, to be honest. All he knew was that Tony was acting strangely and he hated how everyone...well, most of them couldn't treat him like they used to. Abby and Ziva treated him with exaggerated care, as if he were made of glass. Ducky treated him differently...but that was different because they were now on equal ground with regard to that one experience. Gibbs...Tim wasn't sure how to characterize Gibbs' actions. Tony had avoided him like he had the plague and he was acting so oddly now that he was here.

"Probie?"

Tim relied on the shielding darkness to hide his annoyance as he shrugged. "I don't know. Depends on why you're here."

Tony, even in the shadows, looked awkward. He turned around and Tim could tell the moment his eyes fell on the open bedroom door...and on the blankets carefully spread out on the floor. He looked back at Tim, who steadfastly said nothing, and then walked to the bedroom.

"McGee...are you sleeping on the floor?"

It was stupid question. The bed showed no signs of being slept in. The blankets were on the floor. Tim didn't bother to answer.

Tony crouched down beside the bed and looked back.

"McGee, are you sleeping on the floor?"

"Not right now," Tim said. He hadn't followed Tony into the room. He was still standing in the living room...but he felt his hand start opening and closing convulsively...as it always did when he started feeling nervous, anxious, afraid...angry.

Tony stood up.

"Why are you sleeping on the floor, McGee?"

"I'm not sleeping anywhere else."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just don't."

In the light of the moon, Tim could see Tony's eyes as they dropped to his hand. Tony took an involuntary step back.

"You're scared of me, Tony."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. You're scared. You're afraid of me. You think that I'll kill you. You've been afraid of me ever since you found out what I did. You think that I'm going to lose control and kill you...or someone else."

For a minute, Tim thought that Tony was going to keep denying what was so plain, so obvious. Maybe Tony thought he could deny it, too, because he looked Tim in the eye and opened his mouth...but then, his eyes dropped back to Tim's fist.

Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

"I'm worried, Probie. I'm not scared."

"What are you...worried about, then?" Tim asked.

Tony took a deep breath and then let it out.

"You almost killed Gibbs."

"I know."

"Gibbs wasn't even trying to let you do that...and you almost killed him. I actually thought you were going to."

Tim shook his hand, trying to stop the movements.

"I _was_ going to. I don't know how I managed to stop myself. I was going to kill him. I didn't want to, but I was going to."

Tony swallowed. "You're not supposed to be able to do that, McGee."

Tim laughed. Short. Shaky. "I know...but I can."

"That's what worries me."

"You think I'm going to really kill him next time?"

"Is there going to _be_ a next time?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't _want_ to do that, Tony. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to get into the ring. I never did. Not once. Not with the people I killed, not with PFC Dallon. ...not with Gibbs. I didn't...but I had no choice."

"You didn't have to fight Gibbs."

"Yes, I did! You think Gibbs wanted anything other than a fight? I understand now what he was doing...and..." Tim's hand clenched into a fist and stayed that way. Tighter and tighter. "...and I could have killed him...and he would never have killed me. I know why...but don't you think that I am aware of that every day?"

"You're probably a better fighter now than any of us."

Tim shook his head violently. "No, I'm not. I can't stop, Tony. Fighting...it isn't a game for me. It's not...I can't just spar. One hit...and I feel I have to fight for my life...and the only way to stop the pain is for the other person to die. Good fighters know how to stop. I don't. I don't know how."

"Not even now?"

"It's been about three months, Tony. You think that's long enough to forget? You think that I can forget what I did? What I was forced to do? And have _you_ forgotten what you found?"

Tony was silent. Tim knew he hadn't forgotten.

"Or is it just that you _want_ to forget? You want to pretend that you didn't see what I could do, what I did. You don't want to know what it took to turn little old McGee into a killer." Tim stepped forward and noted that Tony _didn't_ step back...but he plainly wanted to. "You want to pretend that everything is normal." He stopped in the doorway. "But it's not normal. _I'm_ not normal, Tony. I'm not and I can't be. I'm not...I'm not McGee anymore. I'm someone else. If anything, I'm Daniel Ellis."

"You're not, McGee."

"How do you know, Tony? You've been hiding from me. If I was someone who thought like Daniel did, would you even know?"

"McGee, you're not like that. You're just not. I don't have to see you all the time to know that."

"How do you know?" Tim asked, really wanting an answer. "How could you possibly know?"

"I've seen you when it mattered. You didn't kill Gibbs when you had the chance. You didn't kill that lady either. You stopped yourself both times."

"Only because I wanted to die. It wasn't because of some sort of strength on my part, Tony. I wanted them both kill _me_. I wanted to lose the fight."

"I know," Tony said finally. He sat down on the bed and looked at the blankets on the floor. "That's what bothers me the most, I guess."

"What?"

"You're not supposed to be good fighter, McGee. You're not supposed to be able to beat Gibbs. No one beats Gibbs! You're not supposed to get so angry that you want to kill someone...and almost do. ...but mostly, you're not supposed to hate your life so much that you want to someone else to kill you."

"I can't kill myself, Tony."

"Why not? You're not Catholic."

Tim smiled a little. "Killing myself might hurt. I don't do anything that might hurt. I don't want to hurt anymore, Tony. I banged my hand on the doorframe a couple of weeks ago. It dropped me to the floor before I even had time to think about it. I assumed that...that they were... I don't want to hurt anymore."

"You can't avoid that, McGee. Heck, with how much you read, you'll probably get a paper cut," Tony said. It was a weak joke at best.

"I know I can't. That's why I'm still going to therapy. That's why I'm not working. That's why...why you're still afraid of me. You can see how...how bad off I am."

"I'm sorry, McGee."

"For what?"

"For all of this...for...for acting like it was all good just because you were moving along. I knew you weren't."

Finally, Tim walked into the room and sat on the bed.

"It's a nice bed, you know."

"Feels pretty nice."

"I lay on it a lot when I'm reading."

"But you can't sleep on it?"

Tim shook his head.

"That's kind of weird, Probie."

"I know...but I figure that of all the things in my life that are screwed up, sleeping on the floor isn't even in the top ten."

"Do you think you _have_ to sleep down there?"

"Have to?" Tim sat back. He'd never really thought about it. "I don't know. I just sleep there...so I can sleep."

"Why?"

"The bed wasn't very good where they kept me."

"I know. I saw it...but this is a nice bed."

"Yeah, it is."

"So...why sleep on the floor?"

Tim slid down to the floor and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "When I'm here, I go through another night when I know that they aren't coming for me, knowing that I won't have to fight, that I won't have to get to that..._stupid_ wall before the lights go out. I can just lay here...and wait for sleep...and I can wake up in the morning and see the light. In the morning, I know that I've gone through another day without killing someone."

"Do you think you won't?"

"Logically? No...but logic doesn't have much place in my life. Not anymore."

"Yeah, it does, McGee. You're not a killer."

"I am."

"No, you're not."

"We've arrested people who have killed fewer people than I have."

"Well, they wanted to, McGee. It's hardly the same thing."

Tim sat up. "How can you separate it? How can you look at me and not see the same kind of people who _do_ kill because they want to? I killed out of desperation. We've seen people who did that. We arrested them."

"McGee...can you honestly say that what you wanted was to kill them?"

"I..."

"No, I mean...I know that you felt you had to, but did you _want_ to? Did you think, 'well, I think I'll just beat this guy to death' before you started?"

"I just wanted to stop hurting, Tony. I wasn't thinking of anything else. I would have done worse if they had made me. I would have..." Tim stopped and stood up, walking to the window. He looked out at the moon.

"What, McGee?"

"You're right to be afraid of me, Tony."

"What, McGee?"

"I would have killed any of you if you had been in that ring. I wouldn't have cared about anything other than...than stopping the pain. I would have killed you or Gibbs or Ziva..."

Tony laughed. "You think you could have killed Ziva, McGee?"

Tim whirled around. "You think this is a joke, Tony? It's not a joke! You didn't think that I could have killed Gibbs! I could have. I almost did! You think that even Ziva would have been able to stop me in the state I was in?"

Tony stood up.

"I wasn't...I'm not...not...skilled! I was desperate. Whenever I have to fight, whenever I think about it, I feel that same thing in the pit of my stomach. I want to fight just so that it can stop...so that the pain goes away, so I don't... I don't now...because I guess the therapy and all is helping but... but the feeling is still there, Tony. It's not going away. I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of what I could do. I'm afraid of what I've done. ...and I'm really afraid of the fact that I know that..." He smiled through the sudden tears in his eyes. "...that I could kill even Ziva if I was forced to. So I don't blame you for being afraid...because so am I...and I still wish...oh, I _really_ wish that I had lost."

Tony had been looking at Tim with an expression of deep thought...which was rare enough to get Tim to stop talking and wait.

"McGee?"

"What, Tony?"

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"I still don't want to watch a movie."

Tony tossed the video onto the bed. "Good. I don't want to either. Let's go."

"I'm in my pajamas."

"Doesn't matter. No one will see."

Tim started to feel nervous.

"Where?"

"Trust me, McGee. Let's go." He walked out of the room.

...after a moment, Tim followed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Tony, why are you driving me to NCIS?"

"How could you tell?"

"Um...maybe because I've been driving to NCIS from Silver Spring for about five years now?"

"Okay. Good point." Tony kept his eyes on the road and pretended he couldn't tell that Tim's anxiety level was skyrocketing. "Just trust me, McGee."

"I don't."

"Yeah, that's because you're smart...but this time, you really can trust me."

Tim laughed, but he was nervous. Tony could see how tense Tim was just sitting beside him. They got to the Navy Yard in silence before Tim twigged to what Tony might be doing.

"No, Tony. This is a bad idea."

"What is?"

"This. Don't do this. Don't...don't make me do this."

"Trust me, McGee."

"I don't...trust you. I don't, Tony."

"McGee..."

"No, Tony. Take me back." The fear in Tim's voice made Tony's gut twist with regret. Maybe this wasn't the best idea...but he had started on this course and something made him continue it.

"Trust me." Tony pulled into a parking space and looked at Tim. "I'm not one of those guys who hurt you, McGee. I'm not Miss Cherie Montaine who claimed ownership of you. I'm not even Gibbs. Don't confuse me with him. We're not the same..." He rolled his eyes. "...even though I might act like him sometimes."

Tim shook his head mutely.

"Come on, McGee."

Tony opened the car door and got out. Tim sat for a few moments before reluctantly following suit. Tony led him into the bullpen, grabbed a few files from his desk and then led an increasingly anxious Tim out of the bullpen, into the elevator.

...and down to the evidence garage.

Tim's eyes widened and then narrowed.

"What are we doing in here?"

"Come with me."

"Why?"

Tony got off the elevator, walked into the room and looked around at what was sitting out. It was almost as if he'd planned this days in advance, even though it had been the inspiration of a moment. Everything he needed was close to hand. He turned around and saw Tim standing just off the elevator. He looked afraid...and that made him look dangerous because Tim resembled nothing so much as a cornered animal when he was afraid now...and the cornered animals were the most dangerous ones. Impatiently, he pushed the thought from his mind.

"You're going to show me what you did. Where you did it. How...what you saw."

"Wha–? No! Tony, isn't it enough that I relive that every day, every night? Do you have to make me do it again?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, McGee. Show me. I have the statements from the survivors and from the villains. I'm going to start. You're going to help me."

"No!"

Tony ignored him and began. "Now, Madison, the grad student, she described where she fought as a ring of light. She never felt like she could penetrate the borders of the light. It was so bright that she couldn't see beyond it. So..." He moved a few light stands around and turned them on, shining bright beams of light into the middle of the garage. "Like this, Probie?"

Tim stared at Tony in horror.

"McGee, like this? Smaller? Bigger? Brighter?"

"S-Smaller," Tim whispered. "It was smaller."

"Okay," Tony said, modulating his tone to be less combative. He could see Tim's fear, his dread at reliving it...and Tony hoped that he was right and that this would help. He pushed the lights closer together. "Like this?"

Tim shook his head. "No. It's wrong."

"How?"

"The angle of the light is wrong. It should be coming from overhead, too. Hot lights, blinding."

"So...how would we get lights like that to shine right down overhead?" He stood there and waited.

"An arm. You could use one of the retractable arms. Their lights were installed in the ceiling, but we can't do that here. The lights should be about nine feet up...so that we couldn't even touch them."

Tony suppressed a smile. Tim's mind was engaging with the problem, even if he was dreading the result.

"Good idea, Probie. Let's get on that."

Tim was looking at Tony like he'd betrayed him, but Tony tried to ignore that, too. He had a reason, a good reason, for what he was doing. Together, they moved one of the retractable arms over and extended it high above the designated ring of light. Tony lowered it and attached one of the bright halogen lights. Then, he raised it up.

"That's...better," Tim said.

"Good. Now, what else?"

"Why are you doing this to me, Tony?"

"Trust me, McGee."

Tim said nothing this time.

"There were doors leading into the room."

"One on each side of the ring..."

"Right. We don't have doors, but I'll make some space."

"Equidistant from each other."

"Right." Tony pushed and pulled the lights he'd set up before, making a kind of gauntlet leading into the ring. Tim didn't move to help him this time. His eyes were on that ring of light.

"Okay, McGee. Anything missing?"

Tim nodded.

"What?"

"The people who belong in the ring." Tim walked forward and stopped at the entrance. Then, he stepped inside and Tony watched the transformation. ...the _almost_ transformation. Tim was still aware that he was in the NCIS evidence garage, not in that room...but he also could see only that room...and he was truly terrified. Quickly, Tony walked into the ring. Tim whirled on him, hands up...but he stopped.

"Don't do this to me, Tony."

Finally, Tony smiled. "I don't want you to fight, McGee...because you could more than likely kick my butt. That's not why I'm doing this."

"Then, why?" Tim looked around and around...almost as if he could see people outside the ring.

"McGee, you don't _have_ to fight. Look where you are! You're standing here in this place you hate, this place that scares you more than it scares me...and you're not fighting!"

"I don't know how long that will last, Tony. Can't you see it? Can't you see... _them_?"

"There's no one to see, McGee. Just you and me standing here."

Tim took a step toward the edge...but he didn't go any further. "I can't get out of here."

"Yeah, you can. You definitely can. Any time you want to go, just walk out. Don't even throw a punch at me...although I'd probably deserve it."

Tim shook his head. "No, I can't."

Tony saw Tim's hand start opening and closing again. It was that nervous habit that disturbed him the most really...because Tim had no control over it. That much was obvious.

Tim turned around and faced Tony, his eyes both frightened and frightening. He tried to laugh.

"Everything inside me is screaming to stop you before you...you attack."

"Do you think I'm going to?" Tony asked, standing his ground.

"No...but that doesn't matter. What matters is wh-what I...I w-w-want to do."

"Do you want to attack me?"

Tim shook his head. "I don't...but...but part of me...me wants to."

"There's only you, McGee. You have the choice. You don't have to...and you know that."

"I don't really. Tony, I _don't_."

"Yeah, you do. You _do_, Tim. _You_ know."

Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Tim was taking deep breaths...but they were coming too quickly to be doing him much good. Tim was losing control. Tony could see it, but he didn't make an effort to run or even to move. He just stood there, trying to help Tim see beyond the light, beyond what he'd done, beyond what his own instincts were telling him.

"No, I don't. Tony, just go. Please, just go."

"Nope. Nothing doing, Probie."

"I could hurt you, Tony. I could kill you."

"You could, but you won't."

Tim shook his head.

"You don't have to. I'm not going to attack you. I'm not going to hurt you. No one else is here, McGee. Just us. You have total control over yourself."

"No, I don't."

In spite of what he was saying, Tony actually agreed with Tim...and for some reason, the more he saw how much Tim had to fight against his instinct, the less he was afraid of him. ...because Tim was right. It wasn't him who wanted it. It was the people who had created the urge, the idea within his mind that fighting was the only option, that death was the only way things could possibly end.

Tim's fist clenched tight. Tony was watching more closely than Tim might think...if only to keep this from becoming disastrous. Unlike Gibbs, he was making no mistake in thinking that Tim wasn't able to kill.

Tim looked at him, turned around and walked toward one of the arms they'd set up. Tony realized what he was about to do just in time. He ran over and grabbed Tim's arm just before he could slam his fist into the solid metal stand in front of him.

"Oh, no, you don't, McGee."

There was a brief struggle and then Tim fell to his knees, pulling his arm from Tony's grasp.

"You've done more than enough damage to your hands, Probie."

"I wanted to hit _you_, Tony. I couldn't. I didn't want to...but I _had_ to. I hate how this feels. It's like...like an addiction. _I_ say no...but my body reacts. It's like I'm watching myself do things that I don't want to do."

Tony crouched down beside Tim. "You didn't do it, though, McGee. Can't you see how much progress you've made? You were confronted with the perfect opportunity to get your revenge...and you _didn't_. You didn't hit me even though I'll bet your spidey sense was tingling and telling you I was dangerous. You chose the course that, were it not for my _excellent_ reflexes, would have caused you pain...and you chose that over hitting me." Tim didn't seem to agree. "I mean it...Tim...you're doing better than I thought. I was ready for you to attack...but you didn't."

Tim's hand moved to the floor and began tracing shapes.

"I keep telling myself that it's not necessary...but then I think back to what I did. It shouldn't have been necessary there either. If we had both just...just stopped, just refused to fight."

"Tim, you were...you were tortured, conditioned to respond in a certain way. It happens. Ziva, I'm sure, could tell you just how often it happens."

"...but they weren't even doing it for a reason! It was a _game_ to them!"

"And you feel helpless."

"Shouldn't I? I didn't have any say. When I tried to protest, they only beat me more."

"You were helpless then. McGee, you're _not_ helpless now. Look at what happened! They lost! Ms. Montaine didn't even have the guts to stick around and face the music! You're the winner, McGee. Doesn't matter how long it takes you to get over all this crap they put you through. You're already the winner."

"They're still winning. I can't stop myself."

"Yes, you can. You _did_."

"You don't get it!" Tim shouted.

"No, I don't," Tony admitted, following Tim as he stood up and started to walk...into the center of the light. "I _don't_ get it, McGee. I can't. Because I look at you and I see progress. You seem to only see..."

"...the people I killed," Tim finished. "...I only feel their lives ending at my hands."

"But there's so much more, McGee."

"Like what? Jethro being killed just because they wanted to get me? The fact that a guy was killed, his body stolen, just for my training? The fact that I almost killed Gibbs because I couldn't control myself?"

"No. You _didn't_ kill Gibbs. You're rebuilding your life. The fact that you _didn't_ kill the man they used in your training. _They_ didn't even kill him...so far as we know. You'd only been free for a couple of weeks when you faced off with Gibbs. It was too soon."

"Scared you off, though, didn't it?"

"Sure...but I'm a wuss and I like things to stay how I've put them. It's no reflection on you."

Tim looked at Tony for a long time and then, to Tony's surprise, he laughed...and then sank down onto his back in the center of the circle and stared up at the light they'd installed.

"Um, Probie, what are you doing?"

"I don't feel safe here, Tony. It's NCIS, but I don't feel safe. It feels like I'm back there."

"Nothing is going to happen here."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it does. Even if it's hard to believe it, it does matter because it's true. Nothing is going to happen to you here, McGee."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Just like that?"

Tim squinted in the light. "No. Are you crazy? Things don't work like that."

"Then, why did you say okay?"

"Because...I want to believe you. I just don't."

Tony laughed. "Fair enough. I'm not sure I would believe me either."

Tim sat up and looked around. "It's still there, Tony. That feeling."

"Yeah, I figured. Not even my brilliance can cure things right away. ...but look at how you're doing by being here."

"For now...what about later?"

"I'm not asking you to stay in here all night, McGee. I did get a movie."

Tony could tell that Tim was about to say he didn't want to watch a movie, but he looked down.

"Okay. Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you help me out of here?"

"Sure thing, McGee." Tony held out a hand with only a minor hesitation. He helped Tim up and then, walked him to the edge of the light.

"It feels wrong."

"It won't when you step out."

"It seemed like I only got to live when the light was on...and I didn't _want_ to live with what I had to do to survive."

"Look, you have a chance to step out without throwing a single punch. We can't include the aborted shot at the light fixtures because that would just have been a losing battle. You know the metal would have won."

Tim gave a strained smile.

"I can't get out."

"Yeah, you can."

"I _can't_."

"Do I have to push you?"

"Probably."

"Nah, McGee. Just go. Let nothing but fear stop you."

"That's what's stopping me."

"Okay...then, not _even_ fear."

Tim didn't move.

"Trust me, Tim. Nothing will happen when you go out."

Tim stood...breathing.

"Look. It's like _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_. 'Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth.'"

"Which means?"

"Well, for Indiana Jones it meant taking a step and then landing safely on a camouflaged bridge."

Tim smiled again, but didn't walk forward.

"What does that mean for me?"

"It means...you have it a lot better than Indiana Jones did because all you have to do is take a step out of the light...and you know what's out there. The evidence garage."

"At least Indiana Jones wanted to be where he was."

"I suppose. Take a step, McGee. You're not going to fall."

Tim smiled weakly and took another deep breath before taking a single step...out of the light and into the gloom beyond. Tony watched him grab hold of the light stand and sag against it as if it had taken all his strength to take that small step. He followed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"One small step for McGee..."

Tim laughed but cried a little as well. "...whatever, Tony."

"Hey, come on! _The Moonstone_ is still waiting! I haven't even seen it!"

"Slowly..." Tim said softly. He took another step, but he hung onto the light stand. It took five minutes to get beyond the ring of light and into the dimmer light of the garage, but Tim made under his own power. "Will you turn off the lights, now, Tony?"

"Why don't you, McGee?"

"Lazy."

Tony just smiled and watched as Tim slowly walked around the ring, turning off each beam of light illuminating the area. When all were out, he walked over.

"I know what you were doing, Tony."

"Trust me, now?"

Tim smiled, pale and sweaty, but for the first time in weeks, there was a hint of mischief in the smile. "Not on your life."

"Come on, McGee. I want to get this movie over with."

"The movie will never be as good as the book, you know."

"Movies are _always_ better than the books, McGee. You have to expend too much effort to read."

"Right. Opening that book. Exhausting."

As they walked out, to the elevator, up to the bullpen, and out the door, Tony had no idea how long he'd be able to hold in his heartfelt relief that Tim hadn't been harmed by what he'd done. He hadn't been at all sure if it would work, if it would help...and it seemed to have...maybe a little. He really wanted things back to normal.

...but if they couldn't be, then he'd at least help get them as close as possible.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

_One month later..._

"You really think I can handle it?" Tim asked.

"I don't know. Do you?"

He sat down on the chair. He'd been getting up and sitting down throughout the entire session.

"Sometimes...I think so. Other times..."

"You're afraid."

Tim nodded...and stood up again, pacing back and forth. "The first time didn't work out so well. I kind of...I lost it."

"We'll be taking it much more slowly this time. I am sorry that we jumped the gun the first time."

"I said I was fine."

"Yes, but, Tim, it's _my_ job as your therapist to know when you're _not_ fine."

Tim stopped and smiled.

"I guess we both screwed up then."

"Yes, I suppose so."

He sat down.

"Okay, so, let's talk through it. How are you doing?"

Tim shrugged.

"Words, Tim."

It was an oft-repeated instruction and Tim smiled.

"Okay, in terms of your conditioned responses?"

A deep breath. "I still have to think about it. How could two weeks change how I react? How could it happen like this?"

"The intensity and type of experience you had...Tim, you're doing well to be able to readjust to the point of returning to a job that requires the kind of action you find in law enforcement."

"I'm not ready for all that yet."

"No, but you're starting...and I have no doubt that you _can_ do that, eventually. Conditioned response to a stimulus takes time to break."

"This sounds like Pavlov's dog."

"The terminology mostly is...but the studies on how humans are affected are not. Humans have additional complications that are not found in dogs. Speaking of dogs..."

Tim shook his head.

"It's not necessary for your recovery, Tim, but you should at least think about it."

"It's funny, you know," Tim said, shaking his head once more. "It's not like I loved Jethro all that much. I mean, I liked him. He was a good dog...when he wasn't trying to kill me." He smiled. "It's just that...how he died..."

"...because it was for you?"

"Yeah. Maybe..." He forced a laugh. "Maybe Abby's infected me with her perspective. Jethro was my responsibility and he shouldn't have been killed because they wanted me."

"No, he shouldn't have been killed...but that's not _your_ fault."

"Even if you're right..."

"I am."

"...it doesn't matter because they still killed him."

"You still need to understand, Tim, that your ability to control the actions of others is about...nil."

Tim laughed. "I know."

"Accept, then, that nothing you could have done would have changed what happened. You might _wish_ that you could...but you can't."

"But maybe..."

"No, Tim. These people were able to carry this out from experience going back nearly ten years. They knew just how to do it, how it worked. You had no idea. No one else knew what was going on. It's horrible, but you're going to have to live with it. Can you?"

Tim sat down and clasped his hands together.

"Can I?"

"You can. Do you want to?"

"Can I skip all the stuff that has to come first?" Tim asked, staring at his hands.

"No. I'm sorry. It doesn't work like that. One step at a time...and you can't skip the steps."

Tim sighed.

"You've made a lot of progress, Tim. Don't discount what you've managed to do."

"Is it wrong that I still just want it to be over?"

"No. It's not wrong to wish. It makes you try harder...if you believe that it _can_ be. Do you?"

Tim looked at his fists. They were heavily scarred. The scars would never completely disappear...but they'd fade.

He looked up...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss! What are you doing out here?" Tim asked in surprise.

Gibbs stood. "You need a ride to work."

"But I...how did you–?"

Gibbs just smiled and gestured. Tim looked back at his therapist and she smiled.

"Don't rush." The order was for both of them.

"Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?"

"I'm not ready."

"For what?"

Tim looked out the car window. "For much."

Gibbs didn't respond. Instead, he kept driving. When they got to NCIS, he turned off the car.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't expect any more than you can give."

"I can't give a lot yet."

"That's fine. Anything you can do."

Tim nodded.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, McGee! Welcome back!"

"Not really back yet, Tony."

"Are you going to at least make it so we don't have to depend on Ziva for our computer junk?"

Ziva glared. "Better me than _you_."

"Right...because we _like_ having someone threaten the computer with dismemberment every ten seconds."

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"Enough! McGee, get to work!"

Tim looked at Ziva and Tony, both rubbing their heads, and then at Gibbs. Finally, he looked back at his computer.

"Okay, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Burning a little midnight oil, Timothy?"

Tim looked up, smiled and shook his head. "Just thinking."

"About what, pray tell?"

"It's nice to be back."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. You shouldn't stay too late."

"I won't."

Ducky turned to go.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Are you happy?"

Ducky looked at Tim, into his eyes and saw a genuine question there.

"Yes, lad. Most of the time."

"How long did it take?"

"I'm not sure I remember when I began feeling happy again. Thirty years is a long time."

"But you still remember."

"Yes, Timothy. You can't forget some things."

"But you're still happy?"

"Yes. Most of the time, as I said. It took time."

"Time heals all wounds?"

"Maybe not all, but many."

"And that's enough?"

"Yes, lad."

Tim sat back and considered.

"It's not enough right now."

"It can be."

Tim nodded.

"Okay. I guess I'll try then."

Ducky smiled. "Why don't you start now?" He held out his hand.

Tim took his hand and allowed Ducky to pull him up.

As they walked out of NCIS, Tim felt the familiar anxiety twist his gut, but he breathed through it.

"All is well, Timothy."

"Not yet..." Tim said, "but maybe later."

Ducky smiled.

"Later is fine."

Tim swallowed and nodded. "Later _is_ fine...and I guess I'm willing to wait."

**FINIS!**


End file.
